Pêche Prunier
by ashurahime
Summary: Hinamori Momo is dead. Her soul returns to the All and reemerges in the Material World as Pêche Prunier. Follow her through shamanic journeys across the Underworld and Soul Society, as she discovers who she is and returns to the arms of a mourning friend.
1. Arc I: Rebirth

Arc I

_"Close the circle and open a door"_

_-L'Mat_

* * *

"Ai-Aizen-taichou?" A faint voice in the darkness, hopeful, pleading. "Aizen-taichou, is that really you?"

Strong arms wrapped around her small body, holding her up as she trembled. "Yes, Hinamori. Everything is alright now…" The voice was soothing, calm. Tears streamed down the curve of her cheek. The last week never happened.

"Aizen-taichou, thank goodness…" The man smiled paternally.

A moment later, crimson exploded from the girl's back, a gleaming steel sword piercing straight through her.

The girl fell, shock and horror in her eyes, as she gazed upon the satisfied smirk of her beloved captain. He turned around to leave her alone in the darkness. Absently, she felt her back hit the floor with a dull 'thump', her eyes losing focus and her breath becoming shallow gasps in the silence. Soon, she couldn't manage to breathe at all.

Hinamori Momo was dead.

* * *

_Nine months later…_

The white room was filled with struggled panting. A woman, Claire, had just given birth. Her husband, Jean, was beside her, holding her sweat-drenched hand, looking very nervous. Suddenly a child's wail burst through the labour room.

"Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Prunier, it's a girl," the doctor proclaimed in flawless Parisian French through his white face mask. Professionally, the dark-skinned man cut the umbilical cord, and then handed the baby to the nurse beside him to perform the regular tests. A minute later, just in time for the mother to calm down, the newborn was handed to her in a bundle.

"Thank you," she breathed, her accent revealing her to be French-Canadian. Looking down at the crying child in her arms, the new mother was struck by the baby's beauty. She fell in love with everything about her child, and very suddenly the world revolved around the crying bundle in her arms. Claire tried to soothe the girl, but while she was able to keep the child from wailing, tears continued to slip from her eyes.

Sensing her confusion and worry, Jean assured her that the girl must just be sad about leaving her warm, comfortable womb. Claire rolled her eyes, but smiled.

Eventually, the tears stopped, and the baby lied asleep in her mother's arms, her father at the bedside.

"Pêche," the new mother whispered.

"Hun?"

"Pêche. This baby's name is Pêche," Claire asserted while examining the child.

The husband paused. "…You mean, pêche as in fish?" His wife shot him a half-hearted glare, although she couldn't completely keep a smile from her lips.

"No! I mean pêche as in the fruit!" The mother emphasized her point by saying the name in English. "Pêche as in peach."

* * *

Pêche grew into a happy toddler. She was the light of her parent's lives, the joy of her grandparents and aunts and uncles. Even before she could speak, it was apparent that Pêche was a friendly girl, always minding her manners, always caring.

The little girl was thoroughly adorable, with her big brown doe eyes and her _sussette_ lodged firmly between her teeth. The little baby never let go of the pacifier, inciting her older cousins to tease her by dragging her around by the ring of it. Unfazed, Pêche would wobble forward, pulled by the piece of tan plastic, until finally the other children got bored and simply yanked it from her.

It was greatly entertaining for the witnessing parents to watch little Pêche's round face grow quickly offended, and her plump little fist to come down unexpectedly upon the older children. Sebastian, eager to prove to his older brother that he was worthy of hanging out with the older kids, caught the little girl's fists easily with one hand. What he failed to catch, was her little leg coming up to kick him straight in the shin.

His elder brother, Frederic, and elder sister, Marie, laughed as the boy's eyes began to water. Very soon, as he realized that the older kids were making fun of him, Sebastian began to bawl, and in the end retreated back to his mother's lap. As for Pêche, she found a very pretty pinkish-gray rock to examine, her pacifier once again lodged firmly in her mouth. Later, she chased around a very pretty black swallowtail butterfly.

* * *

At the age of two years old, Pêche Prunier was perfectly verbose. She was quite a capable speaker, always eager to learn new words, both French and English.

The girl's parents taught her English. It was rather scandalous, actually. In the small town they lived in, the English language was greatly frowned upon. To speak English was to spit upon one's culture and the traditions of the French-Canadian people. In small, rural towns such as these, it just wasn't done.

Pêche's home town was located on the outskirts of the island of Montreal, in the revered province of Quebec. The Prunier family had lived on their (relatively) small plot of land for generations, her grandparents say since the times of Jean Talon.

As the story went, Jacques Prunier had been a priest, and had come to Nouvelle France as a missionary. However, when he had arrived at the monastery after the long sea rout, he had met one Françoise Langelier, a nun who had come to the French colony to work as a nurse at the newly-built hospital. Long story short, they had both fallen head over heels for each other, pulled themselves from the Church's fold, and started a family in a farming community in the region of Ville-Marie.

The village that Pêche was growing up in was a staunchly-conservative town. The vast majority of the population was Roman Catholic and French-Canadian, and ridiculously protective of their culture. It was the kind of place where you were considered a trouble-maker if you listened to American music. If you went around enough, you would even meet grandmothers and grandfathers who would complain about how much better things were under Duplessis.

It was a place where you had to go to Church at six am every Sunday morning, and you had to listen to French-Canadian music, and you had to routinely suffer through long-winded discussions about how utterly fantastic the Block Québécois was. That was the mindset of Pêche's grandparents.

As for her parents, they were more liberal, if only slightly. They didn't see American pop culture as an invading evil, and they didn't feel all too threatened by the English language, either. In fact, they were modern people, her mother having been the first in her family to go to university, studying medicine at the world-renowned McGill University. Her father had studied literature in the Acadian province of New Brunswick. The only thing that they were truly conservative about was religion.

One fateful day, the happy young family was on their way to church. It was a cool summer morning, and Pêche was dressed up in her white and pink Sunday dress. Heading out of the church parking lot, her parents were walking at either side of her, holding her hands. As they approached the entrance, Claire found her sister, Jacqueline, in a small crowd of family and friends.

"Oh, Claire," Jacqueline piped, her nerves clearly high-strung. Her eyes darted to Pêche, who was gazing rather intently on the flower bed to her right, and then back to her sister. "Have you heard what happened to Robert's father?" The fellow mother kept her voice hushed, so that the toddlers at her feet wouldn't hear.

"Robert Lavoisier's father," Claire asked, shifting her weight as her eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What happened to him? Was it his colon again?"

Jacqueline shook her head sadly, stray hairs escaping from her meticulously crafted up-do. "His heart. It happened last night." Claire froze, eyes wide. Her question hung at the tip of her tongue.

"He is with God now," Jacqueline stated regrettably, raising her eyes to the church steeple before them. "I feel terrible for Robert. You know that he hasn't been on good terms with his father since he has remarried."

"I should go offer my condolences," Claire murmured, grief on her brow. She turned to her husband, and offered a meaningful glance. Jean nodded solemnly and took hold of Pêche's little hand, protectively holding her close to him. The mother made a path through the church-goes, following her sister to where Robert was kneeling before God, heart and soul full of remorse.

Clearly uninterested in the distant affairs of the grown-ups, Pêche's eyes wandered all around her. She peered through the columns of legs, seeking something stimulating to watch, when she noticed something rather out of the ordinary.

There was a rather fat man in pyjamas standing at the gate of the church property, staring up despondently. From the center of his chest protruded a thick metal chain. Frightened yet puzzled, Pêche gripped the pant leg of her father's suit, but continued to stare at the man. She saw the glistening of tears rolling down his cheeks.

Suddenly, the man took hold of the chain with both his hands. Although his face was turned towards the bright morning sky, Pêche could see his lips moving. The little girl suddenly wanted to get closer to the man. She let go of her father's pants and walked out past the crowd. Her father followed closely behind her.

Pêche watched as the man start pulling upon the chain at his chest. His muscles flexed as he tried with all his might to rip the ghastly metal from his being. The man screamed. He dug his nails into where metal met flesh. He snarled as tears rolled down his eyes.

His eyes focused intently, belligerently at the church steeple before him, the man cried, "Why have you forsaken me?! Why must you take my life from me, and yet refuse to fulfill your promise to me? Have I not served you loyally all my life, my Lord?!" The man howled in pain as his nails dug deeper into his flesh.

Petrified, Pêche could only watch as the man clawed the chain away. She couldn't raise her voice, she couldn't look away, she couldn't understand what she was seeing. Why was no one stopping that man?

Finally, the man managed to tear the chain from his heart. Amid shrieks and cries of pain, the man's eyes somehow managed to glow with hope. He had suffered for the Lord, he would surely be admitted into heaven. The man, his every nerve alive with pain, dissolved into nothingness. Pêche felt silent tears of fear roll down her eyes. She was happy her father didn't notice.

A moment of frozen time later, a bloodcurdling cry shook the air, the voice even more tormented and frightening than the man's. Pêche's plump tiny fists clenched her father's pant leg more tightly as pure terror shot through to her core. Petrified, the child looked around, searching out the source of the cry with eyes large with fear.

"What's the matter, sweetheart," the father soothed, catching sight of the tears in the little girl's eyes. He crouched down on one knee, trying to coax his daughter to meet his gaze. "Everything's alright, sweetheart. Everything's okay." Pêche, eyes drowning in horror, looked over her father's shoulder at a vision of her worst nightmares.

A humongous creature, arms long and lanky, face covered in a bone-white mask, hovered menacingly over Jean's shoulder. The toddler opened her mouth to cry out, but she couldn't find her voice. She could only watch in horror as the monster's head turned from side to side, its red eyes finally setting dead on her. The creature slowly raised its hand.

The fight or flight instinct took over. "Papa," Pêche cried, tiny hand grasping her father's. She ran as far as her short legs could carry her, her confused father simply walking behind her. The towering monster's hand reached towards her father in slow motion.

Something in the child told her that her father's life was in her hands. She made a sharp turn away from the church. The monster, seemingly a little confused, hesitated for a moment before once again approaching the toddler.

"Pêche," the father shouted. He sighed as he watched his daughter run across the church yard. "It's almost time for Church!" The child was prone to chasing after things, squirrels, butterflies, and sometimes things that couldn't even be seen from the patio, so Jean wasn't too worried about that. The tears, however, were confusing. The man ran his hand through his hair, gazing over his shoulder to the church. _When's Claire coming out…_

Meanwhile, little Pêche was running for her life. She couldn't move fast enough; her legs were too short, her shoes weren't made for running, and her dress got in the way. The child stumbled over her feet and fell to the ground. The light of the morning was eclipsed by the monster's hand hovering over her. Her scream caught in her throat. She felt large calloused fingers wrap around her tiny body.

Before Pêche knew what was happening, she felt warm liquid splatter all over her face. The next second, she was in someone's arms, and a man's firm hand held her face against his chest. The child was surrounded by blackness.

Pêche felt a gentle thump as the man landed gracefully on the ground. For the first time, she could look up into the face of her saviour. Mouth open in awe, the girl saw a man with very blond hair, a long face, and sad eyes. The man set her gently on her feet, and then got onto one knee in front of her.

"Are you okay," the man in black robes asked, as he extracted a handkerchief from within an interior pocket of his clothes. The girl could only nod, eyes wide, as the stranger carefully wiped the blood off of her face. "You were able to see that monster, weren't you?" Again, the child nodded mutely.

"What is you're name," the man questioned professionally, as he pocketed the bloodied cloth, and looked the girl in the eyes.

Pêche looked around, and caught sight of her father and mother, crouching on the floor, surrounded by lots of people. Between the group and her, there was a long metal chain. "I'm not allowed to talk to strangers," the girl murmured distractedly. With her eyes, Pêche followed the trail of the chain and found that the origin was her own chest. It looked too surreal; she was sure she must have fallen asleep in Church again.

The man in black robes followed her gaze to the crowd behind them. "I suppose I should get you back to your body," he turned his tired gaze to the girl. "Don't worry about that monster. I will make sure that someone will be able to help you if you're ever in trouble again." Pêche nodded, unsure what to do or say. She wanted her Mama and Papa.

Silently, the man gathered the toddler carefully in his arms, and quickly ghosted over to where her family was in a frantic shock over her collapse. The man in black robes returned the girl's spirit to her body, and immediately the eyes of the girl's body opened.

Wrapped in the relieved embrace of her father and mother, Pêche watched from over their shoulders as the man in black robes walked away. There was a bright white light, and then, as quickly as he had come, the man was gone.

* * *

"You're late, Kira," the teenager stated as he met up with his counterpart in the halls.

"As are you, Captain Hitsugaya," Izuru returned. There was no reason for either to pretend they liked each other anymore. Not since _she_ had passed.

"Trouble with the Menos," the young Captain intoned dispassionately.

"A child with impressive reiatsu was targeted by a Hollow," Izuru contradicted, equally unemotional. "You've slept another day away?"

"It's better than going off on drinking splurges with my Fukutaichou," Hitsugaya countered, eyes dull.

The two arrived at the door. Another long, tense Captain's meeting with the usual angry belligerent idiots.

Toushiro wished he could go back to sleep.


	2. Arc I: Ghost

"So, how old are you now, _ma cherie_," the elderly grandmother asked affectionately. Pêche flashed a big smile, and held up five plump little fingers.

"How could you forget, Grandma," Pêche pouted. "You were at my birthday! I remember, you got me the panda-bear I wanted!"

"Oh," the grandmother said wistfully, "I am not what I used to be."

"And, and, look how tall I've gotten," Pêche stumbled to her feet in excitement, stretching herself to full height. She didn't get to see her grandmother every day. "Papa says that I'm going to be taller than he is soon, but that's not possible! Papa's _really_ tall!"

The elderly woman laughed kindly. "Yes, Papa _is_ very tall. But you'll catch up." She winked with a wrinkled eye. "Tell me, you've started kindergarten, haven't you?"

"Yes," Pêche exclaimed. "It's so much fun, I've made so many new friends, and we do all these fun things like painting, and ABCs and we learn so many fun games and songs!"

"Really," the grandmother asked, voice revealing just a hint of astonishment. "What sorts of songs?"

Pêche thought for a good moment, her tiny hand placed thoughtfully on her chin. "I know that there was one about a ladybug, but I can't remember how it goes…" To herself, Pêche experimentally hummed a few tunes, trying to remember how the song went.

Sensing that the little girl was becoming frustrated, the grandmother opted to change the subject. "Why don't you tell me about all the friends you've made?"

The little girl's face lit up immediately. "There's this boy called Andy LeBlanc, he says he's from Montreal, and he's got the strangest blond hair! _Nobody_ here as blond hair, but he does, and he says that it's because his mother has it too," the little girl gushed, as her grandmother smiled down kindly at her. "I asked him why his mother has blond hair, and he said it was because his grandparents have blond hair, so then I asked him why his grandparents have blond hair, but he didn't know. He said he would ask his mom."

"Is this Andy your boyfriend," the elderly lady asked, feigning shock. Pêche all but gasped.

"H-He is _not_," she stumbled in embarrassment.

"That's good," the grandmother said, looking much more relieved. "What did I tell you about men?"

"All men are pigs," the child replied faithfully, the true meaning of her words eluding her completely. After the initial enthusiastic assertion, though, her face scrunched up in thought. "Except for Papa. Papa's really nice."

The elderly lady smiled. "Your Papa _is_ really nice. I couldn't have asked for a better son. He would always be taking care of his big sisters," she said with a sad smile, looking to the front of the hall. "I'm going to miss him."

"Hun," Pêche voiced in confusion. She followed her grandmother's gaze to the front of the long hall, where her parents and aunts and uncles and grandparents were.

Looking around, she noticed that her cousins had also grown bored of the adults and had gone exploring the hall. If it wasn't that she would rather spend time with her grandmother, Pêche would have been offended that they'd gone without her. They must have still been angry that it was Pêche that told on Sebastian for breaking his mother's China plate. Because they got in trouble so often, her cousins didn't take well to tattletales.

Eventually, the little girl's attention turned back to the front of the room. She saw her Mama and Papa; they were hugging. But it wasn't like the way they usually hugged. Usually when they hugged, it was when they were joking around and laughing, or when they were arguing and Papa would say something funny, and Mama would throw a dish towel at him, or when they were watching her play in the park with her cousins, or when Mama was crying while reading a book or watching a movie.

This time, it was _Papa_ who was crying, his shoulders shaking and his slender form quivering like a leaf, and Mama was holding him, rubbing his back consolingly. It was weird. Why was her Papa even crying? Papa never cried.

"Grandma," little Pêche started thoughtfully, wide eyes taking in everything around her, "everyone here looks really sad." Her assessment done, the five-year-old looked up at the aged and sagely grandmother sitting calmly beside her.

"It's a sad time, _ma petite_," the grandmother's tired voice replied. "It's never easy to lose someone you love." The girl gazed with the innocence and openness of a child upon the service.

It was a sombre day, everyone cloaked in thick heavy black. Eyes were red and cheeks were soaked with fresh tears. At the head of the hall, a large mahogany casket around which the loved ones of the deceased wept and mourned, rubbing each other's backs consolingly and exchanging words of grief. Among them was Pêche's father, visibly leaning upon his wife for support.

"It's not right, grandma," Pêche complained, almost indignant. She couldn't understand what was going on. "Papa's never cried before. He's always so happy and smiling!" The little girl looked up at her grandmother questioningly. "I don't get it, why should he cry now?" The grandmother placed an affectionate hand on her granddaughter's head, and pulled her in for a kiss on the forehead.

"Perhaps you are too young to understand, Pêche," the elder woman said affectionately. "The loss of someone you love is a pain beyond any other in the world." She smiled down at her granddaughter with nothing but love and kindness in her eyes. "And your father has always been such a sensitive boy. It's what has made him such a wonderful father." The woman finished by tapping Pêche gently on the nose.

The grandmother sighed. "I'm really going to miss your father, Pêche. I'm going to miss all my children and grandchildren. I'm going to miss my husband." The aged woman closed her eyes. "I just wish that I could have said goodbye to them all before I died… to tell them how much I love them all and how much I will miss them, and that I will be watching over them from Heaven… Pêche, please take care of –" The woman opened her eyes only to realize that her granddaughter was no longer sitting beside her. She looked around her. "Pêche?"

Pêche was frustrated. It wasn't right for her father to cry like this. She had never seen her father cry, not once. She saw her mother cry all the time, so it wasn't such a shock to see tears in her eyes. But for her light-hearted and fun-loving Papa to be bawling like this, something must be seriously wrong.

The child, pouting in full force, stomped up to her mother and father, who looked down at her with sad eyes. Jean smiled through his tears and came to his knees before his beloved daughter. "Everything is going to be okay, sweetheart. Grandma is with God now."

"No, she's not, Papa," the girl exclaimed rather loudly. Why was this happening? People around her turned to look, sympathy in their eyes. "Grandma's not with God, she's still right here, like always." Indignant, Pêche pointed behind her to where her grandmother was seating serenely, hand over her mouth and shaking her head.

The father raised an eyebrow. He looked his daughter quizzically in the eye. "In that seat? In our row?" The girl nodded vigorously.

"How silly of you, Papa," the girl smiled, relieved that her father had finally realized the truth. "You shouldn't say that Grandma is gone while she's still in the room! That's rude!" The parents sought guidance in each other's eyes.

"Darling," Claire said gently, now on her knees as well. "There's no one in that seat." The girl's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She looked behind her again and confirmed that her grandmother was no longer in her seat. Instead, the slender old woman was walking towards them, as much in a rush as a woman of her age could be.

"Your right," Pêche agreed, eager to prove her grandma was still here and to end all the tears. "She's coming now, Papa." The girl tugged at her father's sleeve with one hand and pointed at her approaching grandmother with the other. "See, Mama, she's coming this way!"

The worried mother gripped the child's shoulders firmly, drawing back the girl's attention. "Pêche, no one is coming this way. Do you want to go get something to drink?" The girl frowned, tears forming in her eyes. Why wouldn't anyone believe her?

"Pêche," the grandma called as she finally arrived at her granddaughter. "Pêche you need to be quiet. Only you can see me." The child looked in confusion from her parents to her grandmother.

"That doesn't make any sense, grandma," the girl announced. "If I can see you, why shouldn't everyone else see you too?" The child turned towards her parents. "Mama, Papa, you _must_ see grandma now! She's right here."

"I think it's the shock," Claire murmured to her husband. "She needs some fresh air and a change of scenery." The mother rose to her feet. "Come, Pêche, its lunchtime."

The child scowled, tears of frustration in her eyes. "No, I don't wanna," the girl yelled. "Nobody has any reason to be sad, because Grandma's still here. She's walking and talking and everything." The girl saw some of her uncles and aunts shaking their heads. One uncle muttered something in Claire's ear, to which the mother snapped back angrily. The mother tried to reach down and pick up her daughter, but Jean extended an arm, signalling for her to stop.

"Enough, child," the old woman tried to soothe. "That's enough…"

"It's _not_ enough, grandma," the child exclaimed. "Papa needs to know that you're still here and that you're still okay. And didn't you say that you wanted to say goodbye to everybody?!"

"Pêche," the father asked calmly, softly. "Can you see Grandma?" The tearful Pêche nodded.

"Jean, you can't be –" Claire started.

"Just a minute, Claire," Jean interrupted, eyes never leaving his daughter's. "Sweetheart, what is Grandma saying?"

Pêche looked up at her grandmother questioningly. The elderly woman smiled warmly and spoke her final words to the girl. Pêche looked up at her father's tired, ragged, tear-streaked face. "It was the privilege of my lifetime to have been your mother… I love you and your sisters and your father so much, and I'll be watching over all of you in Heaven." Pêche once again listened intently, and then continued. "Please take care of your father while I'm gone. He's not as young as he used to be and he'll need help on the farm. Goodbye, _mon fils_."

"Is that it, Grandma," the girl questioned. The elderly woman nodded. With tears in her eyes, she turned around and began to walk away. Pêche tilted her head in confusion. "Where are you going, Grandma?"

The woman stopped for a moment, then turned around to look her granddaughter in the eyes. "I'm going to the light Pêche, the light."

The slender form of the woman retreated from the hall. She walked away, ready for Fate to find her.

Pêche never saw her grandmother again.

* * *

_A few weeks later…_

"Are you sure that all this is necessary," Jean asked his wife for the hundredth time. Automatically, Claire took his hand in hers and gave it a comforting squeeze. Her eyes never left the one-way mirror in front of her.

"Studies show," the behaviour analyst, Mr. Stephen DuPont, reminded in his usual even voice, "that children often have difficulty expressing these sorts of things with their parents. A professional child psychologist will be able to interpret Pêche's behaviour."

Jean furrowed his brow as he turned back towards the window, where he saw his precious daughter playing with Barbies. Also in the room, the psychologist sat on a child-size stool, looking over the child in quiet interest. His wide, constant smile was meant to make him approachable to the children he worked with, but Claire and Jean found it downright unnerving.

His name was Jeremy Renard. The man was just recently out of school, but had already risen to prominence in his field for his work on paranormal experiences in early childhood. He was a tall slender man with a composed, if relaxed demeanour. Apparently, he was an old university friend of the town's behavioural analyst, who worked as a guidance counsellor for the local school board.

"So," the man started, leaning forward in his stool. Quizzically, the five-year-old looked up from her toys. "How's your grandma, these days?"

The girl looked confused a moment. "Which one? I've got two," the child pointed out.

"Your Papa's Mama," the man clarified, the wide grin still hung on his pale face.

The girl put down her dolls and took up a reflective pose, her eyes wandering and her mouth pouted. She tried to recall the last time she had seen her Grandma. "I think… the last time I saw her, she was alright."

"What happened, that last time you saw her," the psychologist asked conversationally.

Pêche thought back. "Well, me and Mama and Papa were at a party, and I saw Grandma, so I went to go talk to her, while Mama and Papa were talking to everybody."

"What happened after that," the man encouraged, his tone unalterable.

"Umm… I noticed that Papa was crying, and I thought it was really strange, so I went to go see him," Pêche recalled. "He thought that Grandma wasn't at the party, and I guess he got offended, so I told him that Grandma _was_ there, she was just in the back, talking to me. At first, he didn't notice her, but he eventually did."

The man leaned back, his face unreadable past the ever-present smile. For a moment he seemed deep in thought, his head turned reflectively to the side. Soon however, he turned back to the girl in one natural, fluid movement. "Pêche, could you answer one question for me?"

The girl looked a little confused, but nodded anyway. The man's smile grew just a little wider.

"Do you know what death is?"

Pêche deliberated, trying to remember what her Sunday School teacher had said. "It's… when a person goes to Heaven to be with God, right?"

"I don't know," the man replied, "is it?" The girl looked confused. Why would her Sunday School teacher with the pretty skirts and the cookies lie?

The man let the question sink in for a moment, before he once again leaned back on his stool, looking nonchalant. "Different people have lots of ideas about what death is." Pêche tilted her head in interest.

"They do," she wondered.

"They sure do," the man said with exaggerated enthusiasm. He paused, taking advantage of the girl's undivided attention. In return, the man's eyes were trained pointedly at the girl's large bright eyes, waiting for even the slightest hint of recognition. "Like some people see death in the form of a person. A person dressed all in black, with a sword, who can do cool things like fly in the air."

The child thought the idea over in her mind. How could death be a person, like this smiling man said? But then again, how could death be a place, like her teacher said?

As Pêche mulled over these ambiguous questions, dolls moving in her hands again, the man rose from his seat fluidly. He patted her head gently.

"It was nice to meet you, Pêche," the man said with a smile and a wave, heading for the door. Pêche watched him go for a moment, before returning to her games.

As he closed the door behind him, the esteemed psychologist was met with the familiar knowing gaze of his old friend.

"Well," Mr. DuPont asked, adjusting his glasses slightly. The man smiled.

"Keep an eye on that kid, buddy," the man said, smile widening. "She's a special one alright."

* * *

A loud knocking at his door stirred Toushiro from slumber. He let out a low groan. Was it too much to ask for to be allowed to sleep through this whole month? Eyelids heavy and body lethargic, the young Captain dragged his feet over to the door, where the knocking had only become louder. He slid open the door and, unsurprisingly, was faced with his rather chipper Fukutaicho.

"Ah, you're up, Capt'n," Rangiku exclaimed, somehow managing to sound genuinely surprised. "Great! Do you wanna come out with me and some of the guys?"

"To a bar," Toushiro deadpanned. Rangiku smiled mischievously and ruffled his hair. He scowled at her in return.

"Not to a bar, Capt'n," Rangiku said with a smile, "you've gotten older, but you're still too young for the club scene! We're going to a restaurant."

Toushiro knew where she was going with this. His eyes softened, and he looked away. "Look, Matsumoto, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I'd rather spend this time of year unconscious." Rangiku's smile dropped clean off her face. She sighed.

"You can't keep going like this, Toushiro," Rangiku voiced softly. "She wouldn't want you to." Toushiro's eyes narrowed in distress.

"I can't help it, Rangiku," he said, his hollow voice echoing his loss. "It's been six years now, but I can't forget."

Rangiku mustered a sad smile. "You don't have to forget. Remember her for who she was, and keep her in your heart. But move forward." Toushiro looked up into his long-time friend's eyes with a pleading look.

"I _can't_ Rangiku," the young Captain stressed. "I see her in my dreams. I'm chasing her, always chasing her. I follow her forever, and just when I think I've gotten ahead, she's still miles away from me."

"Toushiro," Rangiku soothed, chest heavy and eyes devastated.

"At least in sleep I can continue to live in some way, while still holding onto the hope of catching her one day. When I'm awake, I'm sober enough to consider actually going to join her." Rangiku's eyes widened before narrowing in pain. She was silent for a long while.

"I'll try again next year, Captain," Rangiku murmured.

"Thank you, Matsumoto," Toushiro replied, ready to end the torment and return to oblivion.


	3. Arc I: Legacy

It was a beautiful summer afternoon. The town had just emerged from the damp comfort of spring into the dry heat of the countryside summer. School was almost out, meaning there was very little homework assigned, very little for the first graders to worry about. The six-year-old Pêche spent her days playing Champ, Hopscotch, Tag and Hide-And-Go-Seek, carefree, with her friends.

There was, however, one piece of drama that Pêche was faced with. None of her other friends wanted to hang out with Andy LeBlanc, a tiny boy with light blond hair, because he was a boy. While Pêche didn't mind so much snubbing the other boys in the class for her friends, Andy was different. Andy had been her very first friend outside her family. There was no way that she was going to abandon him, so in the end, she took her mother's advice and told her friends that she would be hanging out with Andy.

Pêche and Andy got along very well. They had already decided that they were going to get married one day. Of course, Pêche would never tell her family, because they teased her about him enough as it was.

One day, during lunch break, Pêche and Andy were playing house. They liked doing this, going to the edge of the playground, in the shade of the trees, and pretending that they were already married. The roots, which stuck out and made the ground bumpy in places, made perfect walls for their home.

They did, however, often argue about who should go to work. In Andy's family, his father was an accountant and his mother, a housewife, therefore it seemed natural for him to be the one to go to work, being the husband and all. Pêche, however, insisted that it was the _wife_ who was supposed to go to work. In her family, it was her mother that went out to work at the local hospital everyday, and her father who stayed home working on his next novel. In the end, they decided that they could both go to work together. That way, not only could they play house together, but they could play work together, too.

And so, Pêche and Andy were playing house in their special spot, when a few boys from their class approached them. A wide, friendly smile bloomed on Pêche's face, while Andy's set into a deep scowl. "Guests," Pêche cheered, opening an imaginary door.

"Hey Andy," the plump boy in the center of the group said. "Get out. Pêche is going to hang out with us!" Andy sprang to action, getting between the group of boys and his wife.

"No way," Andy all but shouted. He was very protective of Pêche. "_I'm_ playing with Pêche!" The girl put her hand on her husband's shoulder, trying to draw him back.

"That's no way to talk to guests," Pêche chided. "We can all play together."

"We don't want to play with _him_," the same chubby boy said in repulsion. Andy didn't get along very well with the boys in their class. "He's a weakling! Pêche should play with us!"

Not liking the other boys' attitude one bit, Pêche walked around her husband, hands on her hips and leaning forward menacingly. "You guys had better be nice to Andy, or I will have to ask you to leave," she said in her oh-so-grown-up tone.

"You can't make us leave," another boy said this time, frowning as he crossed his arms.

"Yea, _Andy's_ the one who's leaving," yet another boy chimed in.

Pêche's brow furrowed in anger. "Alright, you guys have to leave, _now_."

The chubby boy snorted. "Yea right!" The boy stepped forward and suddenly pushed Andy, who tripped over a root and fell backwards. "Come on and play with us, Pêche!" The boy's wingmen laughed. Shocked, Pêche dropped to her knees beside her friend.

"Andy," she cried. "Are you okay?" The boy brought his hands out from behind him, and he and Pêche discovered he had scrapped his palms. Pêche snapped.

"Look what you did," Pêche shouted, rage burning intensely in her eyes. "How _dare_ you hurt Andy?!" The boys, who had admired the friendly and gentle Pêche, reeled back from shock at her explosive anger.

Instinctively, Pêche, picked up a long stick, long ago dubbed her 'broom', and ran in to whack the offenders. She missed, however, as the chubby boy had also tripped on a root during his escape and fallen backwards. His hands scrambled over the dirt to find something to defend himself with. Dodging another fierce attack, he found another stick that, while not as long as Pêche's, was thicker. He used it to block another brutal blow.

Although Pêche had always been a non-violent, well-behaved child, she had no difficulty penetrating the bully's defences, robbing him of his weapon, and forcing him to his knees with quick, precise blows. Within thirty seconds, the boy was grovelling on the floor, begging for mercy.

Pêche looked upon him with eyes of fire. "Apologize to Andy," the girl screamed, gesturing to where her friend still sat on the ground, shell-shocked.

"I'm sorry," the boy squealed. "I'm sorry, I won't do it again!" If it wasn't for the pure terror he felt at that moment, he would never have ceded his pride like that, especially with the whole class watching in amazement from the sidelines.

Before Pêche could utter one last threat, and return to playing house with Andy, she heard the teacher's voice calling her. "Pêche! Come here _now_, Pêche!" The girl dropped her stick as the teacher took firm hold of her shoulder, dragging her back to the school building. Another teacher went to go talk to the bully. As Pêche approached the school, she wondered what had come over her.

"Missy, I don't know _what_ you thought you were doing," the teacher continued to scold. "But you are going _straight_ to the guidance counsellor, and the principal is going to call your parents. Hitting is in no way acceptable conduct!"

Soon, Pêche was thrown into the familiar Day Care room, where a familiar face was waiting for her. Mr. DuPont, the guidance counsellor and the school's Day Care manager, was looking out the classroom window into the playground, where teachers were still kicking up a ruckus over Pêche's little stunt. He turned to look at her, laughter in his chocolate brown eyes.

"I never would have imagined you'd possess such excellent swordsmanship," the man praised. Even if Pêche were old enough to grasp irony, the meaning of his words would have escaped her. The girl blushed, and the man gestured her over. She sat down on the seat across from him.

"Why did you hit your classmate, Pêche," Mr. DuPont asked gently, allowing the humour in his voice to fade. The girl crossed her arms stubbornly.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she grumbled. "Jean-Baptist pushed Andy."

The man let out a low laugh. "Have you ever heard that two wrongs don't make a right?"

"But three rights make a left," Pêche noted, not being able to help herself. One look at the exasperated expression on her role model's face made her draw back. "Sorry. Sebastian says it a lot when he's in trouble."

"Sebastian's another story," the man said gently, remembering all the headaches Pêche's hyperactive cousin caused him every day at Day Care. "Why didn't you just call a teacher?" Pêche's tiny brow furrowed.

"I don't know," she admitted, more than a little frustrated. "When I saw the scrapes on Andy's hands, I just really wanted to teach Jean-Baptist a lesson."

"And you sure knew how to use that stick," the man noted, none too subtly getting to the heart of the issue.

"I don't _usually_ hit people," Pêche defended. She shrugged lightly, a smile on her face. "I don't know how I did that, but it was actually pretty cool, wasn't it?"

The guidance counsellor laughed. "Yes, it certainly was cool. But don't make a habit out of it. And certainly don't tell your parents I said that!"

Realization struck the seven-year-old. "Oh my God, my parents are going to kill me!" The man laughed again.

"They won't kill you," he assured. "I'll talk to them; tell them to go easy on you. After all, you _were_ defending a friend, and that sounds pretty honourable to me." The girl cheered.

"Thank you, sir," she shouted with glee, a bright smile on her face. "Can I go back outside now?" The man smiled paternally, and nodded. With that, the girl sprinted from the room, eager to go find Andy and see if he was alright.

Left alone to his thoughts, Mr. DuPont could only marvel at this discovery. This was beyond anything that he'd ever expected of the young girl. He knew the girl was special, but this level of connection to her previous life was something he had never heard of. Mr. DuPont suspected that even his friend, a pioneer in the field of paranormal child psychology, wouldn't be able to believe what he had witnessed this day.

The behavioural analyst took out his cell phone, and dialled his friend's number. It only rang twice before his friend picked up.

"Hey, what's up, Stephen," that characteristically laidback voice greeted.

"Are you busy, Jeremy," Mr. DuPont asked in a hushed voice. "Something unbelievable happened with Pêche just now."

A laugh was heard over the line. "I'm giving a lecture now," the man said, "but I can talk."

Mr. DuPont nearly rolled his eyes. His friend was the kind of professor that half of his students adored and the other half despised. Usually in this situation, he would just call his friend back later, but this was no ordinary scenario. Mr. DuPont explained what he had just witnessed.

The explanation done, Professor Renard was silent on the other end of the line for a long while. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm gonna make a trip down there this weekend. I've got something that you _gotta_ see."

Mr. DuPont sighed sharply. "Could you _please_ stay on topic? Don't you understand the signi-"

"Yea, I understand the significance of this," the other man cut in. "And I've got something here that'll confirm whether or not this kid's soul is what we think it is. I found it when I was in Japan a few weeks ago…"

"Are you sure it isn't just another dud," Mr. DuPont asked flatly. "You have a habit of bringing back the most useless junk and calling it magic."

"No way," the professor proclaimed. "This is the shit. It's the real deal this time, for sure." The guidance counsellor really rolled his eyes this time.

"She's getting too old for me to pass it off as a game," the man reminded. "One of these days, I'll be sprinkling her with bogweed from _God_ knows where, and she'll-"

"Nah, nah," Professor Renard dismissed grandiosely. "This'll work. You'll see." Mr. DuPont exhaled as he tried to rub away his forming headache.

"So," the man on the line said, "have ya found a nice country-girl to marry yet?"

"I'm married to my job," Mr. DuPont said flatly. "Don't you have a class to teach?"

"Ah, that's too bad," the professor sighed in feigned disappointment, ignoring his friend's last commentary. "You know I'm still going with that chick I told you about? From the club? She's got the biggest knockers I've ever seen, and I swear to God they're real."

"Jeremy," he replied warningly. And this guy had the nerve to say that he wasn't over _her_…

"And ya'know how most of the chicks with huge knockers are chubby," his friend continued, obviously enjoying himself. "Not this one. It's all good genetics with her. She's a nutjob, though. Has about twenty cats. I thought I was going to choke on all the dander in the air at her plac-"

"I really don't care," Mr. DuPont cut in sternly. "I'm not going to be your excuse not to teach your class, Jeremy."

"Oh c'mon," the professor complained. "Is it so wrong that we catch up?! 'Sides, teaching these kids is really boring!"

"This coming from a child psychologist," Mr. DuPont replied, heaving another sigh. "Now I'm going to go. Teach your class."

The guidance counsellor could practically see his friend pout. "You're no fun."

* * *

_That weekend..._

It was late by the time Professor Renard arrived at his friend's small house in the country. The man was in no way a country person, but he would not hesitate to come down to Estrie when he thought it would advance his research.

The smiling man traveled a lot, and seemed to have a knack for finding children that seemed to display paranormal abilities. How much was attributable to his wide web of vigilant associates, and how much to his own acute sense of the thing, was unsure. But the result was that Professor Renard had his eye on several special children all over Quebec, Ontario, and New England. Pêche was one of his more promising cases.

"M'kay," Professor Renard said around a donut. "So I was in Japan, right?"

"Yes," Mr. DuPont prompted, mustering the patience that he had with children. After all, this friend was just an oversized kid anyway.

"At Todai University," the man continued, laid back on his friend's couch. "I was in the cafeteria, you know, just looking at people, right? And what do I see? This girl, she's tiny but damn did she have a loud voice! Couldn't understand a word of what she said, but I was curious, you know? She was yelling at this guy with bright red hair. They made such an odd pair it was funny."

"Alright," Mr. DuPont encouraged, everything about his demeanour calm and collected.

"So I asked the Dean of the Psychology Department, who was sitting right next to me, who she was, and he tells me, more than a little embarrassed, that it's the girlfriend of the redheaded student. Apparently she's drops in sometimes to see her chum, and they're always causing a ruckus."

"I see," Mr. DuPont wondered just where this was going.

"So then, something weird happens. The chick drags him by his collar out the door."

"How is that weird," the guidance counsellor asked.

"Well," the man continued. "Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be weird, but it turns out that that redhead was a Med student, and at that time of year, if they're at school, they've either got an exam, or they desperately need a professor's help for something." The young man shrugged. "Either way, he shouldn't have let himself be dragged out, no matter how pushy his girlfriend is. And he didn't even put up much of a fight."

"Don't you think you might be reading too much into this," Mr. DuPont questioned calmly. It wasn't exactly rare for his friend to go off on wild goose chases.

The man's smile constant smile grew even more pronounced. "Don't ever doubt my sixth sense. Let's just say I knew something was up."

"So what did you do?"

"I followed 'em," the man said offhandedly. "And that's when things got _really_ interesting."

"What happened," the guidance counsellor asked.

There was a twinkle in the man's eye. "I follow them, silently of course, and then, all of a sudden, they turn into an alleyway. The chick pulls out what looked like a glove, and puts it on. And then she slaps him! On the head, if you can believe it! And the guy falls unconscious."

Mr. DuPont raised a slender eyebrow. Where was all this going exactly?

"And then, the girl pulls out something else, it looks like one of those Fez candy dispensers. You know the themed ones, with characters from the Flintstones and from Shrek and Star Wars and stuff?"

"Yes, a Fez Dispenser, got it," the brown-haired man prompted.

"And she pops a candy into her mouth," the man exclaims. "Now, that, in and of itself would be weird. I mean, she just ran with her boyfriend into a dark alleyway, gave him a nice shot to the head that rendered him unconscious, and then she wants to eat _candy_? I mean, people just don't do that! And acting as if she was in a terrible hurry all the while…"

"Okay," Mr. DuPont said. "Now can you get to the point, please?"

"Patience," the man lectured. "So anyway, she takes out this candy dispenser, and pops one into her mouth, right. And then you'll never guess what happens. You know how I said she was one of those pushy, angry chicks? She starts laughing. Hysterically. Her demeanour was completely different from before, like a split personality or something. She also shouted out something, to no one in particular, and then, as if he weighed nothing, threw her boyfriend over her shoulder and started back out the alley."

"So what did you do," Mr. DuPont asked, relaxed and aloof in his chair.

"I was curious about the glove and the candy dispenser," the man replied. "So I mugged it off the chick."

"What?!" The guidance counsellor almost spit out his coffee, calm-and-collected aura shattered.

"Well, I did it a little more tactfully then a _mugging_," the man admitted, his smile unwavering. "It was more like, I told her that I would tell everybody about what I saw if she didn't hand over the glove and the candy. And then, like a monkey or something, she attacks me. Puts down her boyfriend, and throws both fists at me! And you should have seen her face, it was psycho! And she also said 'pyon' a lot, which isn't a real Japanese word, by the way. I asked a professor when I got back to the campus, and he said that it's a sound effect used in Japanese comic books to indica-"

"Alright, so what did you do then," Mr. DuPont prompted, losing patience with his friend's habit of dwelling on details.

"So, yea, she attacks me, but I had my briefcase with me-"

"You are _not_ going to tell me you attacked a defenceless Japanese girl with your briefcase," Mr. DuPont interrupted, incredulous.

"She was surprisingly strong," the man replied, as if that forgave all. "And she attacked me first. I wasn't going to hurt her if she gave me the stuff first."

"You are unbelievable," Mr. DuPont said, shaking his head.

"So, anyway," Professor Renard continued, "I start hitting her with my briefcase, and eventually she stops moving…"

"Please tell me you're joking," Mr. DuPont pleaded. His friend just shook his head, thoroughly satisfied with himself.

"No one saw," Renard justified, "but anyway. When she was unconscious, not bleeding or anything, just unconscious. I _was_ careful. And she was just lying there in the alley, and I took the glove off her hand. And this is where things get really _really_ interesting."

"Let's hear it," Mr. DuPont prompted, wondering how much more ludicrous this story could get.

"I put on the glove," the man said, leaning forward, "and I touch her head like she touched her boyfriend's, although much more gently, obviously. I didn't want to wake her. And my hand goes right though!"

"No way," the guidance counsellor says, voice flat and dead serious.

"Hear me out," Professor Renard says. "But I wasn't satisfied with that, so I moved my hand to her chest…"

"Pervert," Mr. DuPont muttered.

"… and I push against her chest, and you'll never guess what I find in my hand," the smiling man pauses for dramatic effect. "I find a piece of candy. The same piece of candy that was in the dispenser."

"One quick question," the brown-haired man interrupts. "Where you high during all of this?" The professor waves away the question.

"Look, I know this sounds crazy," the man concedes, "but I'm totally serious. I can prove it." He reaches into his pocket, and extracts a burgundy-red fingerless glove and some sort of rabbit-themed Fez dispenser.

The two looked down at the items between them. Professor Renard's smile widens. "How about a demonstration?"


	4. Arc I: Memory

"Very good, José," the woman cheered, a wide happy smile stretching her face and her hands clapping together joyously. "What a beautiful story! Now, who's next?"

"Me," Pêche exclaimed, her hand shooting up. The Sunday School teacher invited her to the front of the room to sit on the front desk.

The teacher had asked her class of seven-year olds to recite a story that they remembered learning over the course of the year. Pêche had worked very hard on her story, trying to remember all the details of a story that had been told so long ago. She cleared her throat to indicate that she was starting.

"Once upon a time," Pêche started slowly, reading carefully from the paper in front of her, "there were two groups of angels: the Dark Angels and the Light Angels. The Dark Angels were very good people, who were very kind and always protected us humans. The Light Angels, on the other hand, were big monsters who tried to eat humans. The Dark Angels' job was to protect humans from the Light Angels.

"So there was once a girl who wanted to become a Dark Angel, so that she could be the sidekick of one of the Dark Angels' Heroes. The Hero was very powerful, but also very kind," Pêche recited. Because she was reading so intently, however, she did not notice the look of distress and indecision on her teacher's face. The children, however, didn't seem to mind the strange story too much.

"So, the girl left behind her grandmother and her best friend, and went to school to be a Dark Angel. She made lots of friends and learnt how to use all these cool angel powers. She was very happy, but she went to go visit her grandma and best friend less and less. Even though she missed them, she knew that she had to devote herself to her dream. Eventually she was able to become the Hero's sidekick, and she helped him as much as she could, with all of her heart.

"Meanwhile, her best friend, a boy just a little younger than her, had gone to school and quickly become a Hero himself. The girl was happy, because she got to see him much more often. Even though he was shorter than her, he was always trying to protect her. He was happy that she was able to become strong and be the sidekick of her Hero."

The girl's voice suddenly turned remorseful. This was the worst part of the story. "One day, however, her Hero was murdered, and the note that her Hero left behind for her revealed that the murderer was her best friend. She was so sad, angry and confused that she didn't know what she was doing anymore. She attacked her friend, but he wouldn't fight against her. He took her away to rest and put her in a special prison.

"She still needed to learn the truth, though, so she escaped. As she was following her friend, someone found her and led her to a dark, secret place. She was waiting there, when suddenly her Hero returned. He smiled at her and held her close, but then, before she knew what was going on, he stabbed her with his sword. Then, her friend, knowing that something was wrong, came to look for her, and came across her Hero. Her friend tried to fight her Hero, but her Hero was too strong, and her friend was also stabbed." The girl paused, quite unable to continue.

"Well, what happened," her cousin Sebastian prompted, eager to hear the end of the story. He had no idea a Sunday School story could be so interesting! Wars and swords and fighting weren't exactly on the usual itinerary.

"The girl died," Pêche whispered, her bangs covering her face.

"And what about her friend," José prompted after a moment. Pêche bit her lip and mumbled something that the others couldn't hear. José leaned forward, an eyebrow raised. "What did you say, Pêche?" The girl looked up, and everyone saw that tears were streaming down from her wide, terrified eyes.

"I don't know," she said, as if she had just realized this. "I don't know. I don't know," she repeated again and again, her falling tears caught by the white sheet she held tightly in both hands. Why was she crying? What was there to cry about? Her confusion somehow only made the pain in her chest worse.

The teacher was in front of her in a second, wiping away her tears with a tissue. She spoke soothingly. "What's the matter, Pêche," she asked. "There's nothing to be crying about."

"I don't know," Pêche repeated again, still clutching her paper. "I don't know what happened to him." She met her teacher's gaze. "What happens to the little boy, Miss? Please tell me he's okay. I can't remember. Please, is my friend okay?"

The teacher looked dumbfounded. She had never before heard a story even remotely similar to the one Pêche had told. Considering this a moment, the woman could only conclude that Pêche had had a dream and confused it with a story told in Sunday School. The woman smiled. Even though the story had Satanic overtones, it was more important to comfort the child then to berate her. "The boy is okay. Even now, he's alive and happy somewhere."

"He's really happy," Pêche wondered. "He should be happy. He was so kind." Tears continued to spill down the girl's face, even as she smiled.

The teacher swiped away more tears. "Why don't you go to the washroom and clean yourself up?"

* * *

The Sunday School teacher gave Pêche's story to her parents, and her parents shared it with Mr. DuPont.

The man tried to hide the shock in his eyes with a joke. "She's got quite the imagination, doesn't she?"

"I've looked through all her books," Claire stated intensely, clearly worried. "I've checked our home computer's History. I've asked all the family and the parents of all her friends. I've asked her teachers, I've looked through all the books in her classrooms myself. There's nothing like this."

The man pretended to consider what he heard. "And she thought that this was a story told in Sunday School?" The worried parents nodded.

"I don't think that we can deny it anymore," Jean asserted after a few moments of silence. "Even after the incident at my mother's funeral, there have been several more strange occurrences."

"Such as," the guidance counsellor asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair. The parents looked at each other.

"Pêche… frequently talks to people that aren't there," the father admitted, unsure of how this revelation would be received. "A few months ago, now, she told us that she had brought home a lost child for dinner, except there _was_ no child."

"We played along," Claire continued. "After the funeral, we knew that it wasn't just Pêche being troublesome. She actually believes that the people she thinks she sees are real."

The behavioural analyst paused. "Could it be a simple case of an only child who invents imaginary friends?"

"We've considered that," the mother said, "but she really doesn't seem to fit the framework. She's a very sociable girl, and she has a good relationship with the other kids in the family. On top of that, the people she says she talks to are different each time." The mother hesitated, afraid of revealing the oddest part of the whole thing.

Mr. DuPont noticed her discomfort. "You can go ahead. I'm only here to help."

The mother forced a smile. Despite the man's calming demeanour, Claire always had the irrational, nagging feeling that he was keeping a secret. "The people that she talks to, they're always people who have just recently passed away. They're people from town that she shouldn't even know about, and yet, just as often as not, when someone passes away, Pêche will come to us within a week and tell us that she's talked to them."

Mr. DuPont felt terribly excited about all the information that was coming out. It was very difficult for him to keep the thrill he felt from his face. However, he had to evaluate the situation critically and take these revelations with scepticism. And more importantly, he had to keep up the charade in front of Pêche's parents.

"Does Pêche usually inform you when she has conversations with living humans," the guidance counsellor asked. The parents nodded.

"She always tells us how her day went," Jean answered. "What she did, who she talked to, what they talked about, how she felt." The father laughed affectionately at the memories of his precious daughter. "She's very talkative, as you know. She even describes how the ghosts that she speaks to look like."

The mother furrowed her brow, speaking lowly. "Ghosts?"

"What," Jean returned, voice also hushed. "That's essentially what we're saying. There's no point in avoiding using the word."

Claire sighed, and turned towards the patient Mr. DuPont. "It couldn't possibly be ghosts. There must be a logical explanation for Pêche's behaviour."

The man carefully considered his answer. "Mrs. Prunier, have you ever heard of Indigo Children?"

Jean groaned. "I wish you hadn't mentioned that…"

But Claire had already started. "Please don't talk to me about Indigo Children. I will _not_ be compared to brain-numbingly foolish parents who stave off raising their children, refuse to believe that their children need psychological help, and cling to the all-forgiving mantra that their child is just 'special'. I am doing _my best_ to ensure that my daughter has a healthy nor-"

"Now isn't the time, Claire," Jean interrupted. Claire was about to say something else when the guidance counsellor spoke.

"Forget that I said anything," Mr. DuPont appeased, both hands raised in surrender. "My apologies."

Claire swiftly ran her fingers through her bangs and sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm on edge. This all just seems so ludicrous. I was fine with… imaginary friends. Believing that it was just a phase, that she would forget all about it soon." She looked up into the eyes of the behavioural analyst pleadingly. Jean took her hand in his.

"But what are we supposed to do if she starts thinking that she's someone else," Claire demanded. "How are we supposed to _deal_ with that?"

Mr. DuPont thought this over carefully, eyes serious behind his thick-rimmed glasses. "I will talk to Pêche. I'll do my best to have this resolved."

* * *

"Yo, man," Jeremy greeted over the line. "Sup?"

Despite the enormity of the topic Mr. DuPont was about to embark upon, his eyes narrowed in frustration. "Why are you talking like that?"

"It's called Ebonics," Professor Renard replied, sounding almost offended.

"I know that," Mr. DuPont replied. "Why are you speaking in Ebonics?"

The Professor considered that a moment. "Well, see, I'm on the south side of Chicago right now, and I thought speaking the language would help me be accepted by the kid I'm talking to…"

"I see," the brown-haired man answered flatly. "What are you doing in Chicago?" Could his net seriously have been spread so wide?

"Found this kid," Jeremy replied, "he's great. Might be even more promising then Pêche."

Mr. DuPont's eyebrows shot up. "More promising then Pêche?!"

"Yea," Professor Renard replied, almost giddy. "His mother was shot a few months ago, and ever since then, he's been taking revenge on everyone who commits a murder. Super-efficient, too; gang activity has plummeted. His elder sister was just killed yesterday, to get revenge, obviously, and the kid went on a _rampage_."

"So, a criminal, in other words," Mr. DuPont surmised, leaning back on his chair. He didn't need to see it to know that his friend's smile was widening.

"You are _so_ small-minded," he heard his friend say. "He doesn't kill them. He's there when it happens, but there's never any blood on him. No prints, no murder weapon, nothing. He kills them somehow, calls the police, and waits for them to come before wanting to leave. The police take him in, but they always have to let him out for lack of evidence, and cause he's a minor."

"What," Mr. DuPont asked, totally confused.

"Okay, I'll explain, so _listen_ this time," Jeremy chided playfully. "This kid, when he hears someone has been killed, or that someone is about to be killed, he goes out and finds the murderer, at his house, on the street, whatever. And yes, the police don't even know who the murderer _is_, but somehow the kid does, and the police only find out later. And he goes and finds them, and then the next thing we know, the police are called, and they find the kid alone with one or more dead bodies, all of them with these huge slashes across their bodies."

"Couldn't the kid have hidden the murder weapon before the police arrived," Mr. DuPont asked.

"Nope," his friend replied. "Apparently, the blood was still warm on all the victims. Plus the kid never has a drop of blood on him. The police have searched thoroughly and they can't find a murder weapon, or any bloodied clothes. I tried to ask him how he does it, but he didn't seem to trust me at all, for some reason."

Mr. DuPont considered this. "How old is this kid?"

Professor Renard paused for dramatic effect. "Much too small to be taking out gang members. He'll be turning seven soon." His friend nearly choked on his spit.

"Seven?!"

"Yea," Professor Renard said joyously. "It's uncanny, isn't it? Pêche is also seven now, isn't she?"

Mr. DuPont's eyebrow furrowed. "I don't think that that's what's amazing here!"

"Really," his friend responded. "I think that that's the real story behind this. Oh, yah, and something I forgot to mention, the kid is blind."

Mr. DuPont blanched, eyes all but bugging out of his skull. "There's no way. You're pulling my leg."

Professor Renard laughed. "I'm totally serious. I'm telling you, the kid's really something."

"Well then," Mr. DuPont replied, still reeling from shock. "What I called you for doesn't seem quite so groundbreaking anymore."

Jeremy smiled. Man, this was really turning out to be his week.

* * *

He knew all along that Jeremy was insane. He was the kind of person that you could know for years, and still feel was a complete mystery to you. The two had met in CEGEP and had started out as rivals, two kids who would always get top of their psychology classes. Stephen was a reserved, friendly, steady presence, while Jeremy was flighty, fickle and flaky. Outwardly, whether it be their demeanours or their ideas, there was always a dramatic contrast between the two.

But the two were highly intelligent men. It didn't take them long to realize that they had something in common, an interest that seemed to be shared only by them two: the mind after death.

It was a primordial fear, they knew, the fear of death. It was a reality that people would rather not come to terms with. Through events in their vastly different lives, however, death had been forced to the forefront of their minds. This heavy, looming presence became a morbid fascination for the two men. They saw in each other someone who sought to understand the true beauty of The End.

Stephen would never find out where Jeremy had gotten the idea, he could only assume that it was from _her_. Even after years of friendship, Stephen knew next to nothing of Jeremy's personal history. But one day, Jeremy approached Stephen and told him a story of Spirits of Death. It was an epic story that a pragmatist such as Stephen had trouble swallowing at first.

Jeremy suggested that when Spirits of Death die, they are reborn as human children who, often, retain some element from their past lives.

Jeremy didn't know much about these Spirits of Death, or, if he did, he didn't share it with Stephen. The premise that they were working under, that they had been working under even before graduating from University, was that knowledge of the nature of death came from these children. And so they, along with many others who had been drawn into their morbid interest, sought these children out. They found the children, they watched the children, and they were often disappointed.

But sometimes there was a breakthrough. Now, for instance. Pêche was emerging as one of the most promising children. She seemed to have the ability to communicate easily with the other side. In the past, she seemed on some occasions to be drawing upon skills that she would have had in her past life.

Now, memories were surfacing. This was huge.

"It's a real nice story you have here," Mr. DuPont commented in his even tone.

Pêche looked up from her glass of milk. "It's really sad, though, isn't it?"

"It sure is," the man agreed, looking down at the sheet with a look of concentration. "You know, I think I've actually heard this story before."

"It should be in the Bible," Pêche added helpfully. "I heard it at Sunday School."

"Yea, yea," Mr. DuPont agreed, looking as if he was trying real hard to remember something. "And the girl… after she dies, what happens to her…?"

Pêche tried to think back as well, biting slowly upon her chocolate-chip cookie. "I don't know… I just remember that she's in a lot of pain, and she's really sad and shocked that her Captain betrayed her… And then she dies."

Mr. DuPont's eyes widened a moment, before he reigned in his reaction. She shifted from 'Hero' to 'Captain' without explanation… Just like she had referred to the girl in the story as herself when speaking to her Sunday School teacher. He'd have to keep careful note of all these hints.

"Oh, I know," Mr. DuPont suddenly realized. "After she died, she was reborn as a human." Pêche's eyes widened.

"Really," Pêche wondered. "As a human?" Mr. DuPont shrugged.

"That's the way I remember the story going, anyway," he said. "The girl was reborn as a human baby."

Pêche smiled around her cookie. "That's good! Then that means, when she dies, she'll return to where her best friend is!"

"But," Mr. DuPont wondered aloud, "will her friend still be alive to greet her?"

Pêche nodded. "Yes! Because Death Angels are immortal. The only way that they can die is if they're killed."

Mr. DuPont considered this for a moment. "So he'll be waiting for her. He must be looking forward to seeing her very badly."

Pêche shook her head. "I don't think that the Death Angels know that they're reborn as humans when they die." Her mentor tilted his head in silent questioning. "Well, think about it. If the girl in the story knew that her Hero wasn't _really_ dead, why would she get so upset as to attack her best friend?"

"True, very true," Mr. DuPont agreed, nodding his head. "But this way, he will be that much happier when they meet again." Pêche considered it.

"I guess so," she said, before a wide smile bloomed across her face. "And then maybe things could be different."

"Different how," the man asked, thoroughly eager to hear the story of this girl's soul.

"Well," Pêche started, quite unsure how to phrase her explanation. "When I first heard the story, I thought that the girl was being kind of unfair, following only her Hero when she could have followed her best friend. But she always only thought of him as a kid, and didn't notice when he grew up."

"Really," Mr. DuPont responded, carefully filing this piece of knowledge away. "And next time will be different?"

Pêche nodded. "Because I think that she's probably learnt her lesson. And she probably knows now that she can't trust her old Hero."

Mr. DuPont contemplated this. "Hey, Pêche, do you remember what happened to the girl's Hero?" Pêche's eyebrow furrowed in thought.

"I don't know, actually," she said. "But after what he did to a sidekick and to a Hero, I don't think that the Dark Angels are going to let him get away with it." The girl shrugged.

"The Light Angels must be happy then," Mr. DuPont surmised. "The Dark Angels are fighting amongst themselves."

"I guess so," Pêche brooded.

"I wonder what role God played in all of this," Mr. DuPont wondered.

Pêche looked at him with a scowl on her face. "I don't think He mattered all that much, actually." The man's eyebrows rose.

"That's quite a statement," Mr. DuPont said. "Make sure not to say that in front of your parents!"

"I can't help it if it's the truth," Pêche muttered, dropping her gaze as she blushed in embarrassment. "He didn't really _do_ anything."

"Maybe," Mr. DuPont suggested, "God is on the side of the Light Angels." Pêche's mouth fell open in shock. "Why else would he allow such chaos to befall the Dark Angels?"

"No way," the girl exclaimed. "Light Angels are the bad guys! They're big monsters that are in a lot of pain! They need shinigami to bring them back to their right mind! Besides, if you were to think like that, then where would God be in _our_ world? He's not with the bad guys, because bad guys get caught and sent to jail, but he's not with good guys either!"

"That's quite a good question," Mr. DuPont praised. "I think if you were to ask your Priest, he would say that everyone receives their just desserts in the afterlife."

"But that doesn't make sense, either," Pêche proclaimed, cookies and milk in front of her long forgotten. "I mean, what did the girl's friend ever do to deserve what he got?"

"What did the girl herself ever do," Mr. DuPont added rhetorically. Of course, he expected Pêche to contradict him. The enthusiasm dropped from her face and she grew glum.

"She attacked her friend," Pêche answered sombrely, eyes downcast. "No matter how confused she was, she never should have hurt him like that. It was unforgivable."

Mr. DuPont paused. A heavy silence enveloped them. "Don't you think that you're judging the girl a little too harshly?"

Pêche stared down into her milk. "No," she said. "No, I don't."


	5. Arc I: Discovery

Another day rolled about in Soul Society, another day just like the last. Acting Captain Kira Izuru was in his office, ploughing through paper work. For some reason, he noticed, Hollow activity had increased dramatically in the Third Column in the last few years.

It was normal for the world's reiatsu distribution to change over time, along with changing conditions. The increase in global population, and, therefore, in reiatsu per square mile, had put a certain level of stress on every division of the Gotei 13. Izuru had heard that the Tenth, Eleventh and Twelfth Divisions were under particularly incredible stress, directly attributable to the population explosions in their respective Columns.

But what Izuru didn't understand was why Hollow attacks had increased so much above average in _his_ Column. His Column covered the East coast of North America, where the population was more or less stable, most of the Caribbean and Central America, as well as a chunk of South America. The reiatsu readings were significantly higher than would be expected, but not enough to warrant the huge amount of Hollow attacks taking place in his Column.

In the years following the Winter War, when Aizen's stranglehold on the Hollow World had been let go, Hollow attacks the world over had increased above extrapolated amounts. There had even been attacks by Gillans in population hubs in Asia and North America. Those, however, had waned over time.

But still, the Hollow attacks in Izuru's Column were unnerving. Especially since the cause of the increase seemed to be, counter-intuitively, from the northern part of the Column.

As Izuru contemplated this, he did the paperwork. He approved the admittance of more shinigami into the division. He tweaked the map a little, adjusted the concentration of shinigami assigned to particular places, taking into account Hollow hotspots and depression zones.

As he did this, Izuru eventually came across a notification from his third seat, Minamoto Akai. He was part of the wave of newbies that had flooded the doors of the Shinigami Academy when news of Aizen's defection had spread. He had joined the division five years ago, and had recently risen to be the official third seat, and the acting Vice-captain of the Third Division.

The blond shinigami read the quick notification.

"Dear Captain Kira,

It has come to my attention that many of the high-reiatsu humans that our shinigami are watching over have suddenly gathered inexplicably in a metropolitan area. I'm sure you understand the danger. I'll be in Montreal until the humans disperse. I'll see you when I see you.

Minamoto"

Izuru eyed the note for a while, before sighing in resignation. He could imagine how his right-hand man would have freaked out at this little revelation. Despite his skills as a shinigami, he was prone to overreaction and could be infuriatingly impulsive. Izuru couldn't bring himself to berate him, however, because he acted only on the desire to protect his comrades and the humans in his jurisdiction.

And this time, maybe just this once, Minamoto might have made the right call.

* * *

Minamoto Akai strode down the streets of downtown Montreal. He had just purified another Hollow. His senses were on high alert, waiting for even the slightest indication that something was about to go down. His ears were strained, his eyes shifting vigilantly, and his hands ready to draw his zanpakuto at a moment's notice.

That was when he noticed her, sitting in the back seat of a parked car. Those big eyes watched him, filled with curiosity. Akai quirked an eyebrow. That wasn't right.

He walked forward, and her large chocolate eyes followed. He walked backwards, and her eyes followed him still. He walked forward again, and towards the entrance of a store. Still, her eyes followed. He approached the little girl whose eyes were filled with wonder. "Can you see me?"

The girl smiled, and then nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I can see you! You're dressed so strangely!"

Jean turned around from his seat behind the wheel. "What did you say, Pêc-" he started, before realizing that she wasn't talking to him. He fell quiet, and watched carefully.

Minamoto considered the situation guardedly. The child had a large amount of reiatsu, especially for a human. He estimated that she had about as much as a seated officer. She must have been one of those humans that Hollows continually targeted… "Hey, kid, where are you headed?"

"We're going to the restaurant, but we got lost," the girl said cheerfully. She rose from her seat, and pointed out her open window. "Mama's in there, getting directions." Akai looked over his shoulder, and he noticed a slender woman with jet-black hair at the counter of the convenience store. She didn't seem to have particularly high reiatsu.

Akai bent down to take a look at the father. He was watching his daughter carefully from the rear-view mirror. His reiatsu was also unimpressive. Where exactly had this girl come from? Akai had heard of kids that could see ghosts even though their parents couldn't, but he had never heard of a human child that could see shinigami without good genetics kicking in _somewhere_. What a special little girl.

"Do you mind if I tag along," Minamoto asked with a smile, as the mother returned to the car, holding a piece of paper with a map drawn onto it. The girl's eyebrows drew together.

"I'll ask," she said to the Fukutaicho, as she turned towards the front of the car. "Mama, Papa, can this man come with us to the restaurant?"

Claire looked to her husband, and her suspicions were confirmed. Jean answered his daughter the way he did when she wanted to bring a living person along with them. "Don't talk to strangers, Pêche. I'm sure the man is very busy."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Minamoto replied in haste. He hadn't expected her to ask her parents about it. She wasn't a little kid anymore, he expected her to have known the difference between living people and the people only she can see. "I'll just ride on the roof of your car."

"Wow," Pêche replied, "you can do that?" Minamoto smirked, and disappeared.

"Did you feel that," Claire asked, noting the light bobbing of the car.

"How strange," Jean replied, still watching his daughter from the rear-view mirror. She had taken off her seatbelt and was trying to look up above the car through her window.

"Wow, mister," Pêche said, awe clear on her face, "how did you do that?" Before she could get an answer beyond the man's prideful smirk, her mother called to her.

"Put your seatbelt on, sweetheart," Claire called from the front seat. "We're going."

"Mr. and Mrs. Prunier," Professor Renard greeted, "Welcome!" He and his colleague Mr. DuPont stood from their seats in the high-classed Szechuan restaurant to greet the rest of their party.

"Thank you," Jean replied with a smile as he shook the man's hand. "We're very sorry for the wait. We haven't been to China Town in years." Mr. DuPont assured him that it was no trouble, as the smiling man turned his gaze to Pêche.

She was gazing out through the nearby window in awe. It was the first time she had been to Montreal since she was a baby. Everything seemed so big and everywhere seemed so crowded. Minamoto was also watching, his eyes unfocused as he concentrated on the reiatsu patterns of the wider area. "Hello lil Pêche!"

She tore her eyes off the towering buildings. "Hello Mister, how are you," she asked politely. The man's smile widened.

"What a well-mannered little girl," he remarked. "Here, come sit next to me." The man pulled out the chair next to his own, and the child, well behaved as always, sat down. Her mother sat on her other side, and her father beside her mother. Pêche noticed that there was no chair for the new guest.

"Um, Mister," Pêche called to Jeremy beside her. "We're missing a chair for Mister Akai." Jeremy looked towards where Pêche motioned the 'Mister Akai' to be, and saw nothing but air.

"Of course, how rude of me," Jeremy called grandiosely. "Waiter, can we get another chair, please?"

Minamoto frowned. Why was everyone playing along with this girl Pêche? He knew that only she could see him. Another chair was brought, and Pêche invited him to sit down. He sat beside her, and he watched.

Mr. DuPont and Pêche's parents partook in casual conversation. The professor, however, hadn't taken his eyes off of the eight-year-old girl. Suddenly he spoke. "Do you know why you're here, Pêche?" The table fell silent.

Pêche looked up from the table cutely. "We're here for some sort of conference, right?" The girl looked questioningly towards her mother.

"That's right," Claire said with a smile. Like the trained mother she was, she didn't allow any of the distaste she felt for this trip reach her eyes or voice. This invisible guest was yet another sign that she couldn't just let things continue as they had been.

"You're going to meet all sorts of special children," Jeremy continued, rashly, Mr. DuPont thought. "Children just as special as you." Minamoto's eyes widened. Could it be that it was this man who…

"What kind of special children," the young lady asked.

The man's smile widened. "You'll have to wait and see. It's a surprise." These words confused the girl.

"Why would meeting children be a surprise," she wondered. The man said it as if he was doing her a favour, but it wasn't like these special children had anything for her, right?

"Because, little Pêche," the man said, as he patted her head, "these kids have a lot in common with you. You might even know some of them already." The parents looked just as confused as the daughter. Minamoto, for his part, looked shocked. There was something strange about this man with the constant smile…

Mr. DuPont coughed conspicuously. "Jeremy, you were saying that the Shrimp toast here is good?" The conversation stayed on food until the group began eating. Jean, always the social one, started things off.

"So, Professor Renard," he started, "why did you go into psychology?"

"Please, call me Jeremy," the blond man insisted, as he raised his drink to his lips.

Jean smiled. "Jeremy," he corrected.

The man lowered the glass to the table before responding. "For love," the smiling man answered, just a little wistful. Mr. DuPont withheld a sigh. Jean quirked an eyebrow in confusion.

"For love?" Jean repeated.

Jeremy elaborated in the same easy-going tone as always. "I was in love with a wack-job. I met her in my high school days." Mr. DuPont nodded. He remembered her, the poor girl.

"She had… issues," Jean asked delicately.

"I thought she should have been institutionalized," Jeremy replied much more bluntly. "I asked her out in the ninth grade, but she shot me down. She said she was in love with someone else. So we just stayed friends."

Jeremy shrugged. "Eventually she trusted me enough to tell me who it was that she was in love with. She said that she was married to a Japanese feudal noble."

"Where could she have gotten that idea from," Jean asked. From the contact that he had had with Jeremy over the course of the last few years, he knew that he wasn't one for small talk. There was a point to everything he said, even if it only came to light much later. He had, after all, hinted all along to the notion that their daughter might be drawing upon memories of her past life.

"No idea," Jeremy replied, unmoved. "The great part was that she had this whole back-story with her. She knew so many details that it was a little scary, actually. Of course, now I realize why."

"What happened to her," Claire asked.

Jeremy's wide smile widened further. "She committed suicide, when we were 17."

"Oh my," Claire replied. "We're so sorry to hear that…"

"Don't be," Jeremy dismissed. "She wanted to return to her noble. I was surprised she had waited that long. She said she wanted to be strong enough to stay with him this time."

"What a sad story," Jean said glumly, stealing glances at his daughter, who was handling the chopsticks quite well. A fork and knife lay untouched in front of her.

Mr. DuPont noticed his glance. "I wouldn't worry about Pêche. I don't see her wanting to return prematurely."

"I disagree," Jeremy offered easily, and the other three adults turned towards him in a jolt.

"What do you mean," Claire demanded, struggling to keep her voice low. Her daughter was, after all, having a conversation with an invisible person.

Jeremy smiled broadly, enjoying the attention just a little too much. "From what I've heard, Pêche has her own regrets about her past life. This 'Captain' friend of hers that she let down, mostly. Maybe one day, if she still remembers, she might feel that she needs to return, so that he won't mourn for her anymore." Minamoto, who had been listening to Pêche happily discuss her family's plans for the week they were here, as well as to the general discussion of the table, froze when he heard the word 'Captain'. He stared at Mr. Renard with shock in his eyes.

"Mister Akai," Pêche called in a worried tone, "are you alright?" The shinigami did not reply, instead trying to make sense of this whole situation.

"Is something amiss with Mister Akai," Jeremy asked Pêche, who turned towards him with a furrowed brow.

"He looks so scared, all of a sudden," Pêche replied.

"Hey Pêche," Minamoto called, carefully putting on his carefree persona. "If I ask you some questions, could you ask them to your friends here?"

"Why can't you just ask them directly," Pêche wondered.

Minamoto racked his brain. "Because I'm shy." Pêche considered that a moment.

"Oh," she said. She turned towards Jeremy and Stephen. "Mister Akai wants me to ask you some questions about what you guys have been talking about. He says that you guys have been saying really strange things."

"Go ahead," Jeremy prompted. How fascinating this was. He knew this week was a good idea. Pêche looked thoughtful a moment.

"Where did you hear the word 'Captain' from?"

Jeremy smiled. "From you, Pêche." The girl looked confused, but she had no time to consider this, as Minamoto had another question.

"What happened in the past life you are talking about," Pêche repeated the question posed by Minamoto.

Jeremy's smile stretched. "I'll answer that one if you answer this one: right now, are you wearing black robes and carrying a sword?"

Minamoto froze in his seat. This couldn't be. Pêche spoke his answer. "Yes."

"There was once a little girl," Jeremy said, a knowing glint in his eye, "who became a shinigami so that she could serve the Captain that she admired greatly. This Captain, who was a beacon of kindness to everyone who knew him, was actually a traitor who deceived, manipulated, and eventually killed her. Her best friend, another Captain, was almost killed by him at the same time."

Pêche remembered this story vaguely. Was it in one of her old books, maybe? Absentmindedly, she repeated what Minamoto said. "There's no way."

To say Minamoto was shocked would be an understatement. He knew exactly who the little girl in this story was. She was the reason his Captain went drinking with Matsumoto-fukutaicho and Hisagi-fukutaicho so often. The reason Captain Kira was always, always sad, regret hidden deep in his eye. She was the reason that the Forth Division building had been turned into a giant ice cube when Captain Hitsugaya had awoken only to find that his friend was dead. She was the reason that it was virtually impossible to catch Captain Hitsugaya awake, even now.

Minamoto looked down at the tiny girl with the extraordinary reiatsu in the seat beside him. She said that she was eight years old. It was a little over nine years ago now that Hinamori Momo, Fukutaicho of the Fifth Division under Former Captain Aizen Sousuke, died by her Captain's hand. Everything fit.

What about the other humans with extraordinary reiatsu? Could they be the other casualties of the Great War?

But how could this be? Hinamori Momo was killed by the blade of a zanpakuto. Her soul should have been destroyed. _All_ of their souls should have been destroyed.

Shinigami have died in the past, a great number of them. Never has a shinigami come to the Seireitei and proclaimed that they were so and so who had died a number of years earlier. This was entirely unprecedented.

Perhaps it was because of the reiatsu levels of the casualties. It was very rare for a Captain or a Vice-Captain to be killed by a zanpakuto. The last incident Minamoto could remember was Captain Zaraki's murder of the previous 11th Division Captain, over a century ago. Aside from these rare occurrences, the singular thing that has killed high-level shinigami in the recent past has been Hollows. And Captains hardly ever die. They get promoted to Division Zero, or they retire. The Great War was the only event in written shinigami history where there has been a major conflict amongst shinigami.

The only people that would have known whether all this was possible would have been the late Commander Yamamoto, who lived long enough to have perhaps observed such a phenomenon, and the Central 46, who were the sworn keepers of the knowledge of Soul Society. All, however, were killed by Aizen, leaving the secrets of Soul Society lost.

Could that be it? Could this little girl with chocolate brown eyes and hair as black as coal be Hinamori Momo? Reincarnation was handled by Division Zero, and there was no way that he, not even an official fukutaicho, would be allowed to pose them such a question.

He should inform his Captain of this. It would relieve a great burden from the Soul Society if the Captains knew that their former comrades lived still. Captain Kira might even smile then. And Captain Hitsugaya, who had obviously been in love with Momo, how would he react?

People in the Seireitei used to talk about Captain Hitsugaya. They said he had lost his mind after she had died. First his rampage at the Forth Division, only ended when his fukutaicho had knocked some sense into him, and his subsequent emotional breakdown. Then, his insistence on being allowed to infiltrating Hueco Mundo, and his famous line "If I can't avenge her, I want to die like her." And now, after the war, he was quite intent on sleeping his life away.

How would someone so deep in grief, even deeper than his own Captain, react to this news? Minamoto could imagine him shunpo-ing to wherever she was as quickly as was physically possible, more alive then he had been since her death… and finding that she was an eight-year old human girl with no memories of him whatsoever.

He would probably obsess over her, his head consumed with thoughts of memory retrieval. It might give him the will to live, although it a very unhealthy way.

But what about the girl? She was only a human, at the dawn of her life. Was it fair to tie her down this way? She deserved a chance to live life the way that she wanted to. What if she didn't return Captain Hitsugaya's feelings? Would she feel a responsibility to? Would this feeling of responsibility lead to her unhappiness?

There were too many ifs. Minamoto would have to keep silent about this, for a while at least. He would also have to investigate further into the other children that were assembled in this city by this man with the creepy smile. If shinigami killed by the blade of a zanpakuto were reborn in the Material world, this would include the traitors, wouldn't it? Tousen Kaname, Ichimaru Gin, even though his death remained unconfirmed, and, the Gods forbid, Aizen Sousuke? Was history destined to repeat itself?

Silence. That was the best option. He couldn't say anything to anyone until he had all the facts. The Seireitei would be thrown into chaos. Captain Hitsugaya doting protectively on a human girl. Mourning friends searching for their lost comrades. Captains hunting obsessively for the reincarnations of enemies past. Captain Kuchiki disappearing into the Material world to search for his dead wife. Perhaps Commander Yamamoto was wise to keep whatever he knew on the subject secret.

Lunch ended before Minamoto knew it. The group was ready to part ways, Jeremy and Stephen returning to Jeremy's apartment in Old Montreal, and Pêche and her family heading to see the sights. After a short moment of consideration, Minamoto followed Pêche. Now, more than ever, it was essential that he guard her with his life.

"Are you coming with us, Mister," Pêche asked as they headed down the stairs towards the exit. Minamoto smiled at her, trying his best to be cheerful despite the heavy weight of responsibility on his shoulders.

"Yup," he replied. "I think that you and I are going to be great friends." The lone fukutaicho followed the young child out the restaurant, wondering if this was what it felt like to hold the fate of the world in one's hands.


	6. Arc I: Reunion

Minamoto waited, with an anxiousness he had never felt before, for the conference. Professor Jeremy Renard was going to speak before a small group of parents just like Claire and Jean Prunier. Minamoto wasn't sure how much he was planning to reveal, but it was evident that he knew a lot. How much had he been able to learn from these children?

Pêche had unwittingly provided much of the information for the lead-up to the war. He supposed that the reason that she had remembered those last days of her life so fully was because of the intense emotion that accompanies the death of a loved one and the betrayal of a loved one.

What would the others remember? Yamamoto had a very long life, and who knows what would have stuck with him through death. The same with Sui Feng, and the traitors for that matter. These Captains had all been private people; would it be in their character to share information about themselves now that they were human?

But they _were_ people capable of trust. Sui Feng died protecting Shihouin Yoruichi. If Sui Feng found someone like Yoruichi in her current lifetime, an elder sister for instance, she could have shared just about anything with her.

The traitors had also had close friends. Ichimaru Gin had Matsumoto-fukutaicho, and Tousen Kaname had Captain Komamura, although both defectors obviously betrayed even these close friends. And, to the very end, Aizen didn't really trust anybody. Why would any of them give their trust to such an obviously untrustworthy man as Professor Renard?

"Aren't you coming, Mister Akai," Pêche asked as she pulled gently on his sleeve, jogging him from reverie.

"Yea, I'm coming Pêche," Minamoto replied, noting the worry and determination in the eyes of the girl's parents.

"This will clear things up," Jean assured.

Claire pursed her lips in frustration. What could Jeremy tell her that she didn't already know? Some nonsense about the Spirit World? How blasphemous. "I doubt it."

The three humans and the shinigami made their way to the Psychology building of the McGill campus. Nostalgia overwhelmed Claire as they passed the Medicine buildings.

Jean smiled. "Do you remember that time I surprised you here?"

"I thought you were in New Brunswick," Claire recalled with a laugh. "I was so shocked."

"I'll never forget the look on your face," Jean mused. "Your friends must have thought I was insane."

Claire laughed. "Of course they did, who does the moves on their childhood friend at eight in the morning, when they've obviously been out all night?"

"Dave's bachelor party," Jean reminded. "They had told me all night that you liked me, and I eventually believed it."

"It must have been the liquor," Claire replied dryly, hiding a smile. "But you'd think that you would have gotten _changed_ first. I mean, a suit, complete with tie, when the woman is only wearing her studying slacks?"

"And flowers," Jean reminded, laughing. "Don't forget those gaudy flowers. Just be happy I didn't pull the same thing a few hours earlier…"

"You might have been less successful," Claire noted with a smirk.

"Oh, I don't think so," Jean replied, nonchalant.

Claire sent a challenging look to her husband. He laughed, taking her hand in his. "You don't need to remind me how lucky I got." He raised their intertwined hands and kissed her hand, lips lingering lovingly over her skin. "I'll never understand why a beauty like you would go out with a literature nerd like me."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Yes, as a science nerd, I was _so_ out of your league." They laughed as Jean passed a few more restaurants and pulled in to the Psychology department building.

"Are you ready," Jean asked, as they parked the car.

"Not really," Claire replied. "But it's our daughter we're talking about here." They walked towards the front entrance. Once they were in, they dropped Pêche off with Mr. DuPont in the designated lounge, filled already with the other children, and made their way to Professor Renard's lecture hall.

"Welcome, Pêche," Mr. DuPont greeted. "How are you today?"

"I'm fine, how are you," she replied politely, as she looked around the spacious lounge. Minamoto, beside her, visibly tensed.

Mr. DuPont smiled as he watched Pêche sit shyly on the couch next to Ling Li. Good, everyone was here. He sat the only chair in the room, completing the circle. The brown-haired man waited in silence, watching as the children examined each other. And, of course, that their _other_ guest examined the children.

Minamoto perched himself on Pêche's armrest, carefully scrutinizing each child. They all had a large amount of reiatsu; it was no wonder that they were Hollow bait. The scrawny kid with the bright blue eyes especially; that one seemed almost fukutaicho-level.

"So, why don't we start off by introducing ourselves," Mr. DuPont started, as calm as usual. "My name is Stephen DuPont, and I'm from Valcourt, Quebec." He motioned for Pêche, seated to his right, to go next.

"Um, hello," Pêche started shyly, following her mentor's lead and speaking English, "My name is Pêche Prunier, and I'm also from Valcourt, Quebec." If he were to place her, Minamoto would say that she had the reiatsu of an eighth seat…

Next was a small girl, frowning in disinterest. "My name is Ling Li. I was born here in Montreal, and my parents are from Beijing, China." This girl, Minamoto noted, had reiatsu around the level of a Third Seat.

Next was a boy wearing dark sunglasses. "Hello. My name is Kiano White, and I'm from Chicago, Illinois. I've recently been adopted by Jeremy Renard, so I live in Montreal now." His reiatsu was around Forth Seat, Minamoto judged.

Finally, there was the boy with the blue eyes and ebony black hair. "My name is Aiden Dior, and I'm from Montreal, Quebec." Fukutaicho-level. Definitely.

Well, aside from the ridiculously-high reiatsu levels, they seemed innocent enough, Minamoto thought. Maybe he was over-thinking this whole situation. What were the chances that so many of the deceased ended up in Montreal? This area was supposed to have had a larger than expected reiatsu reading, so maybe kids like these were becoming the norm? But…

Something seemed strange about these kids. Not just their reiatsu, but they acted a lot older than they were. There was something intangible in their eyes. The way they carried themselves, it wasn't the way normal children did. Not even the way Pêche did, although she certainly didn't act her age at times. If he were to go by appearances, Ling Li would be Sui Feng, Kiano White would be Tousen Kaname, and Aiden Dior would be…

Who _was_ this Aiden kid? He was scrawny, with black hair and blue eyes. He didn't look anything like Aizen, even if there was only a one letter difference between their names… He couldn't be the Commander, could he? No one still alive knew how Commander Yamamoto looked in his youth, all those millennia ago. He'd just have to wait…

"Good," Mr. DuPont smiled. "Now, does everyone know what we're here for?"

"We're here to provide you with information," Ling stated dully, watching Mr. DuPont from the corner of her eye. "Because you know that we can see ghosts."

"And not just ghosts," Kiano continued, "but other entities the likes of which you cannot imagine."

Pêche's eyebrow furrowed. "What are you guys talking about?"

The others looked surprised at her question. Ling beside her replied. "For you to be here, you _must_ have noticed. You can see things that normal humans can't."

"Really," Pêche wondered. Mr. DuPont hung back watching. He knew that Pêche would be at a disadvantage in this discussion. Her parents were too worried for her to tell her straight out that she was seeing things that weren't there. The other children in the room could only dream of parents so supportive.

"Aren't you aware," Kiano said, "that there is a death god sitting right beside you?" He pointed one finger towards the startled Minamoto. Pêche turned towards him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Death god?

"So you can see me after all," Minamoto finally spoke, after much hesitation.

"Of course we can," Ling commented offhandedly. "Do you know who you're talking to?"

Minamoto was shocked again. How much did she remember? Enough to keep quiet in front of Kiano? "I believe that I do."

"What is your name," Ling asked.

"Minamoto Akai," the shinigami replied, voice filled with authority, "Third seat of the Third Division and Acting-Vice-Captain under Acting-Captain Kira Izuru."

Aiden heaved a silent sigh. "So, even after all this time, the seats haven't been filled," Ling muttered under her breath.

"How much do each of you remember of your past lives," Mr. DuPont questioned, steering the discussion. Pêche still looked confused.

"Wait," she called. "I don't understand. Can't _everybody_ see Mister Akai?"

"No, Pêche," Mr. DuPont said gently. He had to do this right. "At lunch yesterday, everyone was pretending that we could see him so that we wouldn't upset you."

"B-But," Pêche stuttered. "But you can see him _now_, can't you? He's right _here_!" This was simply incomprehensible.

Mr. DuPont shook his head. "That was the same thing you told your mother and father at your grandmother's funeral. Once a person dies, only people like you, Ling, Kiano, and Aiden can see them."

"But, why," she asked. She thought back to the times when her parents had acted strangely. Maybe the people she had talked to at those times were invisible to them? But how could something as plain as day to her be invisible to her parents? "How is this possible?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Mr. DuPont replied. "What Mr. Jeremy and I were thinking was that each of you here are reincarnations of what Kiano called a 'death god'."

"Do you have any evidence to back up your claims," Aiden intoned dispassionately, finally raising his voice. This man, and especially Mr. Renard, must be up to something, what with all the effort they'd put into this.

Mr. DuPont's smile didn't waver. "Only the personal accounts of the people in this room and children we have known in the past that were just like you."

"There have been others," Ling asked coolly, effectively concealing her surprise.

"One other, to be specific," Mr. DuPont replied. "She was the ignoble, devoted wife of a powerful noble, who was poisoned for tainting the clan."

Ling and Kiano couldn't remember anything of the sort. Aiden, however, recalled. The woman who died with such strong regrets that she was bound to remember her life. "Kuchiki Hisana." That rung a bell.

"Of _that_ Kuchiki family," Ling finally recalled. Images of an aloof man with a white scarf surfaced in her mind. Along with it, his relationship with Yoruichi, his cold demeanour, and his role in the Kuchiki execution and the Winter War. Kiano also nodded his head in understanding. The picture was becoming clearer.

"You're remembering," Mr. DuPont smiled. "That's great!"

"I'm not remembering," Pêche pouted. She wasn't sure what was going on, but she felt strange. It was as if something was at the tip of her tongue, and yet try as she might, she couldn't grasp it. She couldn't put it into shape the twisting shadows in her mind.

Although no one could see it behind his large sunglasses, Kiano's eyebrows furrowed in worry for the girl. "Why is she unable to remember?"

"We were Captains," Ling replied, "and we are barely able to remember the names and faces of our fellow Captains. Imagine how it must be for a Vice-Captain."

"So the reiatsu is the determining factor," Kiano surmised.

"Perhaps it is better that she does not remember," Aiden said sagely. He hoped that Ling understood the trouble some of Pêche's memories might cause.

"She must be so disoriented," Kiano said after a moment of tense silence. "Must there not be a void in her life, without even the knowledge of _that_ person?" Aiden and Ling looked at each other, trying to read what the other was thinking. Would it be worse if he meant Aizen, or Hitsugaya?

Aiden made his decision. "Kiano, Pêche, go wait in the hall while I discuss something with Ling. Minamoto Akai, go with them and do not allow them to speak a word to each other."

Mr. DuPont's eyebrows shot up in alarm. This was unexpected. Perhaps even more unexpected was that both Kiano and Pêche rose from their seats immediately, carrying out the order. Mr. DuPont allowed them to leave.

The door was shut and silence descended. Aiden looked towards Mr. DuPont, disapproval furrowing his brow. "Do you have any idea what you are trying to do?"

"I'm simply trying to know what you know," Mr. DuPont said mildly.

"A human has no right to know what we know," Aiden replied, eyes narrowed.

"How much do you remember of your life as a shinigami," Mr. DuPont asked.

"Enough to know that you've made a mistake that could prove fatal to us all," Ling replied, bristling. "For you to gather Aiden, Pêche and I here is one thing, but for you to invit–" She stopped herself as Aiden held up a hand.

"The reason that you found me," Aiden said carefully, "is because I was proclaimed a child genius. To you and Jeremy Renard, my extensive knowledge was easily explainable if you considered that I remember with clarity my previous life."

Ling picked up where Aiden left off. "And the reason you found me was because I ran away from home, leading to a terrible, if short-lived, scandal. Of course you assumed that 'cursed child' meant 'shinigami child'."

Aiden nodded in understanding, and his eyes narrowed. "What sort of media attention has Kiano received that would cause Jeremy Renard to adopt him?"

Realization dawned on Mr. DuPont, and with it, terrible dread. "You're not trying to say –"

"Answer the question," Aiden snapped.

Mr. DuPont reeled. To think he'd ever be afraid of a child. "He was able to murder countless criminals without getting a drop of blood on him."

"How do they die," Ling demanded coolly.

"Blade wounds," Mr. DuPont answered. Silence fell.

Ling considered the situation. This was much more complicated than she could have imagined. "Commander, could he really have been able to become a shini–"

"Do not call me Commander," Aiden interrupted. "My time as Commander has passed."

Ling paused. "How is this possible, Aiden? Shinigami killed by a zanpakuto should be annihilated." From his silence, Ling knew that Aiden had expected this to have happened.

"You know it well, Ling," Aiden said in a grave tone that did not match his youthful appearance. "A way to annihilate a soul must not exist. It was why we had to wipe out the Quincy. To allow the existence of a way to destroy a soul would inevitably lead to the destruction of the world."

"So you're saying that true death does not exist," Mr. DuPont surmised. "The consciousness lives eternally."

Instead of answering Mr. DuPont's question, Aiden answered the question he knew Ling would be asking. "Yes, even the souls devoured by Hollows are not destroyed. They are trapped in the Hollow until they are purified, when the souls compromising the Hollow fall apart from each other. This is why a Hollow's reiatsu increases with each soul it devours."

"Why have I never heard of this," Ling demanded.

Aiden's youthful face became even graver. "Can you imagine what would become of the Gotei 13 if shinigami knew that their fallen comrades were alive in the Material world? Can you imagine the chaos that would befall our ranks? Look no further than Captain Hitsugaya."

Ling closed her eyes at the memory. Whether it was being able to discuss them with someone else, or Aiden's immense reiatsu that made it easier to remember the past, she wasn't sure. The memories in her heart and mind were becoming clearer, though, and with it, her wishes for the future.

"What are we to do of Kiano, then," she asked. "He doesn't seem to remember about the defection."

"Let's not say anything to remind him," Aiden said decisively. "There are several possible reasons for his not mentioning it, so we're better off not assuming anything. And that means not reminding Pêche of anything either."

"Yes," Ling agreed, as she brooded. "If she asks about Hitsugaya, then it might bring to mind Aizen's plans. We should also avoid mentioning Zaraki."

"We should avoid mentioning the past altogether," Aiden stated. "Kiano and Pêche's memories can only serve as a detriment to them and to the humans around them."

"And what are _we_ supposed to do, Aiden," Ling demanded. "Perhaps Pêche will forget whatever little she has remembered, but we will not. There is no way we can live a normal human life."

"How you live your life," Aiden stated gravely, "is entirely up to you, Ling." Silence fell heavily on the three.

Finally, Ling spoke. "For the Third Division to still not have a Captain," she said, "must mean that the Gotei 13 is shorthanded."

"So?"

"I know for a fact that my fukutaicho is unable to run my division," Ling stated intensely. Aiden's eyes soften just slightly at her words.

"Do you remember," Aiden reminded, "after the last defection? We were crippled just as badly that time as we were in the last war. The Gotei 13 will survive."

"What of Aizen," Ling finally said, "and Gin? They must also be in the Material world, and if we remember our lives as shinigami, they too must remember."

Aiden considered this a moment. "Aizen, if he has already been reborn, will not be an issue. I managed to destroy his shinigami abilities. As for Ichimaru, alone, he is not a threat. Neither is Tousen, for that matter."

Ling remained unconvinced, but Aiden's words allowed her to reach a conclusion. "Which means that, if I so desired, I could retrieve my shinigami powers?"Aiden didn't answer, only eyeing her with his cool blue eyes.

"Stephen DuPont," Ling said after a moment, arms crossed and still looking at Aiden. "I expect you to keep silent about everything you have heard here. Remember that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing."

"I'm sorry," Mr. DuPont replied, watching the odd spectacle with interest, "but there is one person with whom I must share what I have heard here." Ling turned to stared into the man's eyes, but he didn't so much as flinch at her cold glare.

"In that case," Ling said mildly, "I have a request."

"And what would that be," Mr. DuPont asked, equally unmoved.

"I am currently in an orphanage. I would like you to arrange that I be adopted by someone," Ling stated. Mr. DuPont was taken aback by the request that sounded too childish for her. Almost as if she really was just an eight-year-old girl. Aiden, however, understood what she sought.

"Do you have anyone in mind," Mr. DuPont asked, the intense look in the girl's eyes making him sure he didn't have the whole story.

Ling almost smiled at the thought. "Urahara Kisuke. I would imagine that he'd still be residing in Karakura Town, Japan."

* * *

"Thank you so much for coming, everyone," Jeremy greeted casually as he strode into the room. Inside waiting were Pêche's parents, Aiden's parents, and a Sister from Ling's orphanage. Introductions had already been shared by the parents, and they were ready to start. They had waited a long time for this.

"So, everyone's here because you're all afraid that your child is schizophrenic," Jeremy started bluntly, smiling at the parent's reactions. "I have reason to believe, however, that this is inaccurate." The man casually sat on his desk, swinging his legs back and forth just slightly.

"Well, let's start with a little story, shall we," Mr. Renard said cheerfully, extracting a paper from a folder on his desk. A familiar story about death gods, tweaked just a little to keep up with new information, and rendered more complete by the addition of a second and third perspective.

* * *

"You know," Pêche said suddenly, "this isn't a lot of fun."

"Shh," Minamoto hushed. "The Commander said you guys aren't allowed to talk."

"Why do I have to listen to _him_," Pêche huffed cutely, crossing her arms. "He's not my boss!"

"He used to be," Minamoto countered. "So when he says something, you listen!"

Pêche bit her cheek in frustration. "No fun! Can you at least answer some of my questions, if they won't?"

Kiano remained silent as Pêche continued to bicker with the shinigami. He had his own questions on his mind.


	7. Arc I: Draft

Minamoto had been right about the Hollows. They were practically swarming the city. He tried his best to be everywhere at once, cutting the Hollows down as they appeared. He was mostly successful at this until Pêche, Aiden, Kiano and Ling parted ways at around two in the afternoon. By a stroke of intense misfortune, Aiden lived in the suburban west of the island, and Ling's orphanage was all the way in the north-east. The other two were in the middle; Pêche was with her family at a hotel downtown, and Kiano was with his adoptive father in their downtown apartment.

The fukutaicho called in additional back-up to help the shinigami that were assigned to the four children and the shinigami that were always posted in the metropolis. Still, he had a lot of running around to do, and by the sixth day of the trip, Minamoto was thoroughly exhausted. Having just defeated another Hollow, one that his subordinates wouldn't have been able to handle, he continued his rounds. Next, he would stop by Pêche's hotel room to make sure she was still alive.

"Yo, Pêche," he called as he walked into the room. "I'm starving, what's fo-" He stopped cold as he realized neither the little girl or her parents were in the room. Damn it, where did she go?

Minamoto collapsed onto Pêche's bed, trying to clear his mind and focus on her reiatsu. After a moment of concentration, he found it. It was with Kiano's, to the south near the old port. Minamoto swore under his breath and dashed towards the two, foreboding dropping to the pit of his gut.

* * *

"Hm," Jeremy hummed, as he flipped through the channels, uninterested, "there's nothing good on TV…" Stephen sighed his agreement.

"Why don't we watch a movie," Jeremy suggested, looking towards the child in his friend's charge. "How would you like a movie, Pêche?"

The girl considered the proposition. "What kind of movie?"

"Romance," Jeremy proposed.

"Adventure," Stephen countered.

Jeremy, still smiling, looked over to where Kiano sat, away from the group. "What do you want to do, Kiano?"

The boy didn't hesitate. "I want to go stargazing." Jeremy smiled.

"As if I'm going to let you do that," the blond-haired man scolded teasingly. "You'd scare away all your new friends if you pull the same stuff here that you did in Chicago!" Kiano did not reply, blind eyes looking down at the newspaper he couldn't read.

"Come, let's go get a movie," Jeremy prompted, rising to his feet. "Don't you want to be a good host for little Pêche?" Kiano had learnt that even if it was phrased as a request, he really had no choice in the matter. He rose from his seat, and went to his room to get a sweater. Even though it was summer, it could get chilly outside.

"That's a good boy," Jeremy called after him, before turning to Stephen. "He's a great kid, really."

He put on his shoes as his friend glowered. "You're a terrible parent. Kiano won't be able to enjoy a movie." Jeremy's smile widened.

"I wouldn't say that," Jeremy said as the child returned from his room, ready to go. "If the production is good enough, he can picture what's happening from the sound-effects alone, right Kiano?" The child just nodded.

"Well," Stephen said, eyebrows raised, "that's impressive."

"We'll be back," Jeremy called with a wave. He looked over his shoulder to his friend. "Take good care of Pêche, okay?"

"Of course," Stephen replied levelly, a smile spreading across his face. As soon as the door was closed, he went to the kitchen, leaving Pêche to watch television. On the way, he turned on the video camera positioned carefully on the kitchen counter.

He opened the top cupboard, well out of reach for an eight-year-old, and extracted the familiar Fez Dispenser, handling it with a great degree of care. He remembered when Jeremy had first shown this to him. This rather innocent-looking object had sealed the deal for Stephen. He would never again doubt the existence of spirits. Now, after years of waiting, cultivating their knowledge of the world unseen, Jeremy and Stephen felt confident enough to explore this world a little more boldly.

The glove had sent him tumbling out of his body. He remembered how difficult it had been for him to move in that state, and how he had had to struggle to return to his body. If he hadn't been able to make it, he might have remained unconscious forever.

That was why Jeremy and Stephen had decided not to experiment on Pêche at that point in time. They were waiting for this particular juncture, when there was a safety blanket that could intervene and return Pêche to her body in case she herself was unable to.

Both Pêche and Kiano were the ideal candidates for this experiment. Pêche's memory was the foggiest of all four children, and therefore she was the least likely to recognize the candy, and was also the least likely to withhold information. Also, she had a great deal of trust in Stephen, so if her soul was that of a death god, and she realized that she was being used, she would not be able to bring herself to strike him. This ensured Stephen's and Jeremy's safety.

As for Kiano, he was intensely distrustful of both Stephen and his adoptive father. To their knowledge, the only people he had ever trusted were his mother and elder sister, both dead now. He could, however, be controlled.

Stephen sat back down on the couch, bidding his time. Right about now, Jeremy must have been making his offer to his young adopted son. The youth was sure to accept. Despite the restrictions, Kiano would eagerly do anything to be able to again enact his justice upon the world. These weeks of being on a tight leash would make him all the more willing to cooperate.

Stephen placed the Fez dispenser conspicuously upon the coffee table. Pêche turned at the sound. "What is that?"

The brown-haired man smiled. "Its candy, do you want some?"

Pêche eyed the candy a moment, considering. "Does it belong to Kiano? I wouldn't want to eat his candy."

"Don't worry about it," Stephen brushed off the concern. "I was the one who bought that candy. You and Kiano can share." Stephen smiled as the girl took the Fez dispenser into her hands, examining it more closely.

"I like this bunny," she said, looking at it closely. "It's really cute." Shrugging off the feeling of familiarity, she popped a candy into her mouth. The reaction was instantaneous.

Stephen watched as the girl slumped to floor, unconscious. He waited a few moments, giving the girl the chance to adjust to the out-of-body sensation. Then, the experiment would begin.

Pêche opened her eyes and realized that she was sitting on her own lap. As if that wasn't disorienting enough, she saw herself begin to move. It was like a dream, she was looking at herself.

"Hello, my name is Chappy," she exclaimed as she jumped to her feet. "At your service, Hinamori-dono!" Stephen raised an eyebrow.

"Who might that be," Stephen asked the 'Chappy.' The Chappy turned towards him in confusion.

"This is Hinamori Momo," the Chappy said bluntly, pointing down towards the now-invisible girl sitting on the floor.

"No," Stephen contradicted. "That is Pêche Prunier." The Chappy didn't look fazed.

"Her soul signature is that of Hinamori Momo," the Chappy said definitively. "It is unmistakable." The Chappy turned back to the girl. She stared blankly, obviously waiting for orders. Pêche, unsure what else she could do, just stared back into her own eyes.

After a few minutes of silence, Mr. DuPont judged that Pêche should almost be ready to answer his questions. Because he wouldn't be able to hear her, he rose from his seat on the couch and went into Jeremy's bedroom to fetch the whiteboard that they had prepared for this occasion. As the man was shuffling through the dark room, the Chappy perked up in realization. "Ah, the Hollow." Pêche's eyes widened.

"A Hollow," she echoed. She remembered big towering monsters with bone-white masks. She remembered how she used to fight them, with her sword and her kidou. A sword she didn't have anymore. Powers she no longer possessed.

Pêche rose to her feet and began to run, the chain still connecting her to her body nearly tripping her. She knew that a Hollow in this area would without a doubt be after her, so she needed to get out of the building as quickly as possible. If the apartment complex were to collapse, there would be countless victims.

She sprinted through the back door and ran as fast as her legs could carry her down the fire exit. As she was going down the third flight of stairs, she sensed that unmistakable presence behind her. Frozen in her tracks, she saw it over her shoulder, the gigantic form of the Hollow. Its cold breath brushed down her neck. Eyes wide with fear, she was paralyzed by glowing red eyes.

"My, my," the Hollow said in a booming voice. "What do we have here?" He swiped his giant hand towards the girl, and she just barely managed to dodge it, throwing herself down another flight of stairs. She heard laughter and the sound of metal tearing as her attacker's claws cut through the fire escape stairs. "A fast one, aren't we," the Hollow praised mockingly.

Pêche shook away the pain in her head, and tried to force her reluctant body to move. That was when she noticed something truly terrifying. The chain that had connected her to her physical body was severed. This was bad, this was _very_ bad. She had just died.

But there was no time to think anymore. She had to run. The Hollow was approaching. Pêche looked down and judged that she wouldn't survive a jump from this height. Not uninjured at least. She climbed lithely over the metal barrier and started climbing down, heart pounding in her ears.

"Now, that isn't very smart," the Hollow mocked, his weight shaking the broken fire exit dangerously. But Pêche continued to climb down to ground level as quickly as she could. The Hollow reached around, but right before he could capture Pêche in his grip, she let herself fall the rest of the way to the ground. "Hun?"

Instinct took over, and Pêche was able to land in a way that absorbed most of the shock. Although she had probably sprained her right ankle, she hadn't broken any of her fragile human bones. She ran into the night, the Hollow hot on her tail.

"Oh, little girl," the Hollow called out teasingly, obviously enjoying himself. "Just what are you? No human has such sweet reiatsu."

The girl could only run. Without her zanpakuto or her kidou, she was powerless against this Hollow. She couldn't run forever. She was going to die tonight. Die in an even worse way than she already had.

Her parents were going to be devastated. She was their life, how could she do this to them?

And Shiro-chan, she'd never get to see him again, never get to make up for all the pain she caused him.

She was dead. Where Aizen failed, this lowly Hollow would succeed. She didn't want to die, not now that she had this second chance.

Pêche's blood was pumping painfully fast through her veins, her body hot and tense and her breath quick with the labour of her pace. She heard the Hollow behind her, taunting her, but she could no longer register his words. The regret was building in her chest already, and she could only repeat one thing again over and over in her mind: "I don't want to die."

"You don't want to die, do you," a loud voice questioned, an echo to her thoughts. She swung her head around, drawn by the power of the voice. Her quick eyes could not find its source. When she almost tripped in her distraction, she focused again on running. She closed her eyes and forced herself to move just a little bit farther, to live just a little longer...

"Don't you know an offer when you hear one," the loud voice demanded, impatient. "Or would you rather let us both _die_ here?"

Pêche reeled in shock. "Who are you," she shouted into the darkness.

"Who else," the voice mocked, its unseen presence forcing the girl's legs to a stop. The Hollow stopped as well, disappointed that the chase was over. "I'm you."

She raised her hand in a small motion, just barely shifting the air, and immediately, the Hollow was cut in two. With an incredulous, angry shriek, it disintegrated before Pêche's unbelieving eyes.

"What… was that?" The girl looked around her at the almost tangible darkness. "Who are you?" She felt the presence smirking.

"Now, don't be making me repeat myself."

Pêche couldn't understand. "How could you be me? I was a shinigami… How could something like..." Pêche tried to put what she was experiencing into words and failed, "you… exist?"

"I can show you it all, Pêche," the Dark said. "I can show you my origin, the origin of the shinigami. It is a power I can give to you."

"But, why," Pêche demanded. The Dark smiled.

"Because, darling, something like you doesn't come around every day."

* * *

"What do you mean she's unconscious," Claire shrieked into her cell phone and the whole vicinity fell into silence. Jean nearly knocked down his chair as he rose from it, his face a deathly white. Gambling chips lay forgotten on the floor. "Wait, where is she now?"

"We're waiting for an ambulance," Stephen got out in a rush. "I don't know what happened. She was just watching TV when she collapsed."

"We're on our way," Claire breathed, already running out the front entrance of the casino, her husband at her side. "I'm driving," she told him, and Jean was too smart to contradict her.

Meanwhile, back in the apartment, Jeremy and Kiano had returned from Blockbusters, Kiano's arms in a rather strange position.

"What the hell's going on," Jeremy demanded, noting the unconscious girl and his friend's worried face. This combined with Kiano's odd behaviour had tipped him off that something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. "Didn't you use the candy? Shouldn't there be that Chappy thing bouncing around?!"

"I just called the ambulance," Stephen said coolly. "Something very strange is happening here. There was this awful tearing noise, and the candy popped back out of Pêche's mouth and she fell unconscious. I thought that if the problem were to last more than a few hours, we would be better off acting as if we had nothing to do with it."

He spoke almost as if… "Is she still breathing," Kiano asked, shocking the two adults.

"Of course she's still _breathing_," Stephen snapped at the child. "Do you think I'd be able to keep my composure if she _wasn't_?"

Kiano raised an unseen eyebrow. "How odd. She should be dead."

"Why," Jeremy asked, his usual smile tugging on the sides of his mouth. There was more going on here.

"Her chain of fate has been severed," Kiano noted. "This always results in death." He handed the unconscious Plus soul he had found on the street to Minamoto, who seemed about ready to put in two assassination requests. Kiano kneeled beside Pêche's unconscious human shell, and noted with shock that she was, in fact, still breathing.

After a moment of indecision, he calmly rose to his feet again. He spoke to Minamoto, not to the adults in the room. "We must go call upon the Commander. Perhaps he might know if her soul can be reattached to her body. If not, he should know what sort of strange event is occurring here."

After a moment of his own indecision, Minamoto followed the order of the traitorous Captain. "Yes, sir." He lied the unconscious Plus down on the couch and departed immediately. Kiano, still ignoring the adults, examined the reiatsu patterns of the room closely. When he turned his attention out the window, he noticed the wrecked fire escape. He stepped out onto it.

"Hey," Jeremy called. "Where are you… wow, what the hell happened here?"

"A Hollow," Kiano said simply. "This is certainly the reiatsu of a Hollow."

"A Hollow was here," Stephen voiced. "Then that means that Pêche…"

"That's right," Kiano interrupted, brow furrowed and scowling in disgust. "While you were here with the Chappy, Pêche was fleeing for her life." He turned his attention towards the unconscious Plus. "Although her soul was not devoured, her life as a human is over. If Aiden can confirm this, the death god can perform Soul Burial and send her to Soul Society. Because of your twisted conniving plans this poor child is dead." Stephen had turned pale.

Sirens were heard approaching the apartment.

* * *

It was a full four days before the former Captains were able to assemble at the Jewish General Hospital, where Pêche was still unconscious. Aiden had been unable to offer his aid in person that first night, but had instructed Minamoto to simply return Pêche's soul to her body as if she were still alive. This, however, yielded no change in her condition.

Ling looked upon the unconscious girl with a frown on her face. "She should have died." The Sister from her orphanage knew that it was pointless scolding her for saying such things.

Kiano nodded. "It is the fault of the humans for meddling in the affairs of shinigami."

"This is grounds for execution," Ling noted. She turned towards Minamoto, sitting quietly in a corner. "You are aware of that, aren't you?"

"Yes, Ling," the fukutaicho grounded out. "I have been considering it. There is no telling what else these humans will do next. I knew all along that they were trouble." He returned his eyes to the unconscious Pêche. "But I'm not sure that it's in her benefit to expose her identity to Soul Society."

"What I don't understand," Kiano raised his voice, "is that she is still showing excessive cervical activity."

"That is to be expected," Aiden replied sagely. His mother patted his head, secretly happy that her husband had decided not to come. He wouldn't have liked this conversation one bit.

"Why," Ling asked, wondering what else the former Commander had been holding out on. Aiden rose from his seat and walked to the girl's bedside, his aura of authority unbefitting of his small build. He looked into her closed eyes intensely, as if expecting to see something there.

"She's been drafted," Aiden said carefully. He trusted Ling and Akai, but Kiano was another matter. He'd have a fine line to walk here.

"Drafted," Kiano wondered.

Aiden nodded slowly. "I haven't seen it in a very long time. When I had first become a shinigami, it was a prerequisite for all Captains, the way that bankai is a prerequisite now." Ling's eyes widened. What was this thing?

Aiden didn't take his eyes off the girl. "It is a practice that has fallen by the wayside since that time. I was the first Captain to have reached that position without it. I redefined what it meant to be a shinigami." This, everyone knew well.

"Everything changes, everything evolves," Aiden mused. "It was an outdated practice. Too difficult to control, and as the human population began growing, the Gotei 13 needed a more practical way to cut a large amount of Hollows and perform many Soul Burials. A small group of incredibly strong individuals would no longer be able to protect all humans."

"That was why," Aiden declared, "I transformed the primal power that had been used for hundreds of thousands of years into something that could be used by anyone with spiritual ability. I put the power into the form of a sword, the zanpakuto. That was the dawn of the modern shinigami."

"So then what is happening to Pêche," Ling asked. "If this power was so uncontrollable, how could she grasp it with only the strength of a fukutaicho?"

Aiden's face carried a look of contemplation. "Because it wants to be grasped."

The group looked startled. Aiden gazed at them, just a hint of amusement in their eyes. "Have you already forgotten how much your zanpakuto wanted to be grasped?"

His eyes turned to the girl again. "But it is something beyond a zanpakuto spirit. It is not just a part of her soul, but a part of everyone's soul," Aiden explained. "And even the number of its human practitioners has dwindled over the years. It must be very lonely."

Ling's eyebrows shot up. "Human practitioners?"

"Yes," Aiden said levelly. "There are even some in this city."

Kiano couldn't believe it. "Humans that possess a power similar to the shinigami's? How is this possible?"

"Hundreds of thousands of years ago," Aiden explained, "when humans were just coming to consciousness, and shinigami were just coming into existence, there was a very fine line between the living and the dead. Nothing like how we live today. There exist some people, however, who carry the torch."

The group was silent, watching Pêche's even breath. Minamoto raised his voice. "So what is going to happen to Pêche?" Aiden didn't say a word. Instead, he moved his hands to hover over the girl's torso, and closed his eyes.

"This is called Soul Retrieval," Aiden clarified, still able to concentrate on what he was doing. The girl's eyes shot open. Aiden removed his hands from the girl, allowing her to sit up. They all noticed right away that the soul in the body was not Pêche's.

The girl frowned. "I _was_ busy, you know," the spirit said.

"For how much longer," Aiden demanded. "Her parents are losing their minds." The girl's frown twisted into a smile.

"Why don't you tell them what she's up to, then," the spirit suggested. "They're going to find out what she's become eventually, anyway."

"They will disapprove," Aiden dismissed with a frown. "How many more days until she's complete?"

The spirit smiled with pride. "Two or three more days," she proclaimed. "And don't worry, I'm wiping clean her memory of her past life."

Ling frowned. "That isn't necessary. As long as she can keep quiet, there is no danger in allowing her to keep her memories."

The spirit shrugged. "I want her to start off from scratch," she commented. "It wouldn't be good if she did all this only to reach her Shiro-chan. The girl's carrying _me_ now, after all. It isn't going to be all rainbows and sunshine."

"Will you be hard on her," Aiden asked.

"As hard as I am on everyone else," the spirit laughed. "You know it's the only way. Besides, the girl can take it."

Aiden closed his eyes, and the spirit smiled. "It was nice seeing you, Commander-dono," she teased before leaving the body. It slumped backwards, empty, onto the hospital bed.

Aiden heaved a sigh, and turned back to the group. The Sister looked terrified, obviously sensing something diabolic in the girl's body. His mother just looked shocked. "I expect you not to say a word of this to anyone."


	8. Interlude: Progress

Toushiro sighed, both palms covering his eyes as he lied on his bed in his dark room. His world was silent and dark; it had been three weeks since he'd seen the sun or heard the chirping of birds.

It would be ten years before he knew it, ten years since the day she died. He had grown taller, but not by much. He was still short for his age. His body had matured in other ways, though. His chest had grown wider and his shoulders had grown broader in his sleep. The years of inactivity had left him with only a subtly muscled form. His face no longer resembled the face of a child, although that might have been because of the definite marks of mourning now etched onto every line of his face. In more than one way, Toushiro had lost his childhood.

This fact was painfully obvious to him right now, as he lied awake on his bed, a new sort of guilt and disgust tearing away at him viciously. The thin blanket was tented shamefully at his crotch as Toushiro wondered why in hell this was happening to him.

She had been like a sister to him. He had loved her, but as a sister. He remembered how many times he had told himself this, how many times those words had been his only solace as he watched her leave him behind, going farther and father away each time. He had no reason to continue running to her side, but he did, again and again. But she was only his friend. A friend, nothing more. Toushiro had no idea why such a thought was made to comfort him. What was worse than losing a friend?

But for some reason, he kept asserting in his mind over and over that Momo had only been a friend to him. That had certainly been the way she had seen him. That was something he wanted to believe, something that he had refused to question, because he just didn't want to know the answer.

It must have been the hormones. It was typical of his age to have such dreams. That coupled with his deep fixation on Momo had yielded the obvious results. This sort of thing wasn't strange, just unfortunate and very, _very_ inappropriate.

Toushiro sat up in his bed, back hunched and hands still covering his eyes. This couldn't be happening. This could _not_ be happening to him. He looked through the cage of his fingers and saw that the blanket was still tented, as if a monument to his shame. It tainted the memory of his precious friend and brought to his attention feelings that he would rather not explore.

His hands took firm grip of his blanket, as he whispered in agony his apology to his departed friend, like a prayer.

* * *

"I swear to God I'm not kidding," Renji exclaimed, hand in the air as if to take an oath.

"Oh, _sure_ Renji," Rangiku laughed. "How could you expect us to believe that?"

"You say some crazy stuff when you're drunk," Ikkaku laughed loudly, clearly drunk. "As if Captain Kuchiki would even _look_ at a woman!"

"Yeah," Rangiku agreed loudly. "If he wouldn't even spare _me_ a passing glance, he's either gay or still in love!" Renji grumbled his agreement, slyly eyeing the woman's impressive assets.

"But I'm serious," Renji continued to proclaim. "He leaves the Headquarters every day at noon…"

"Lunchtime, idiot, that's normal," Ikkaku mocked.

Renji growled. "Not for _my_ Captain. He's not like Captain Zaraki, ditchin' work whenever he feels like it," he bit back. "And by chance I find him, just sitting by a water fountain talking to this girl! And, of all people, a freshly-recruited shinigami!"

"That's just not possible," Rangiku said, shaking her head. "He barely gives _Captains_ the time of day."

"Exactly!" Renji downed another shot of sake, hoping that Byakuya would never find out about this conversation. "So why else would he talk to this kid if it wasn't 'cause he was diggin' her?!"

Yumichika laughed dryly. "I'll believe that when I see it," he said. "Your Captain really needs to let his hair down. Figuratively, of course; his kenseikan is rather gorgeous…"

"What did this girl look like," Rangiku demanded, leaning over the table, suspicious eyes revealing just a little curiosity.

Renji frowned. "I didn't get to see her very well, but she didn't look like a supermodel or anything. Black hair, short, slim…"

"Did she look like Hisana-sama?" Shuuhei asked.

Renji's frown grew deeper. "How should I know? She didn't look like Rukia, though. She seemed… reserved? The quiet type, ya know…" He cut off his own explanation as he felt a familiar reiatsu approaching the group.

Toushiro had found them. Being a Captain, it wasn't particularly incredible that he had tracked down his lieutenant and her friends that Friday night, eating and drinking cheerfully at a restaurant near the Third Division. But when he walked into the restaurant, eyes dull and skin pale despite his efforts to look healthy, the whole area went silent. Rangiku was the first to overcome her shock, smiling widely.

"Hey Cap'n," she shouted out to him, "come join us!" Toushiro's eyes fell to the floor in guilt, and he dragged his feet over to where his lieutenant sat. She moved over to give him space beside her.

"Hello, Matsumoto," Toushiro voiced, more of a mumble than anything else. Rangiku smiled and shouted out to a hostess for another sake cup. He just sat staring at the wood table, the outside world a flurry of bustling waitresses and rowdy patrons. When Rangiku insisted that he try some of his sake, he finally tore his eyes off the woodwork.

"Unohana says that I'm about fifteen years old now," Toushiro intoned. "I'm still under-aged." Rangiku nudged him in the ribs playfully.

"Oh, c'mon Cap'n," Rangiku coaxed, just a little tipsy herself, "no one's going to complain if you have a drink or two! Right, guys?" There was cheering and toasting all around.

Toushiro looked back down at the table. "No," he murmured quietly. "I'm still too young."

Rangiku sensed that her Captain was slipping further into melancholy, and she let the goofy smile drop from her face. She watched him quietly for a while, only mildly aware of the other sets of eyes trained sadly on her. After a moment, she smiled again and ruffled Toushiro's hair affectionately. His head shot up and he stared at her in mild astonishment.

"I think you're plenty grown up already, Captain," she whispered to him warmly, and there was a world of significance in her words. Toushiro actually managed a slight smile, and it felt strange on him.

When Toushiro left about an hour later, just like when he had first arrived, the table fell into silence. Everyone simply looked into their glasses, as if to avoid seeing their worry reflected in others, arms crossed on the table.

"Well," Renji started, "he was awake, at least…" The others nodded slowly, and silence descended again.

"But it's been nine years already," Shuuhei noted. "And he's still…"

"It's different with Captain Hitsugaya," Isane said, still looking into her sake cup. "Hinamori was…" She too drifted off, eyes finding Rangiku looking across the room absently. "Matsumoto-san, are you okay?"

Rangiku continued to gaze into the distance. "I'm alright." She seemed lost in thought. "And he'll be alright too, one day."

She hadn't noticed before that the Third Seat of the Third Division was in the bar. As soon as she had caught his glance, he had blushed, paid his bill, and scurried out of there as soon as he could, an odd look on his face.

* * *

The next day, as midday approached, Akai jumped from rooftop to rooftop, eyes searching the landscape for any sign of the Captain of the Sixth Division. Captain Kuchiki had suppressed his reiatsu, which proved that he was up to something he didn't want others to know about.

Akai didn't know Byakuya personally; he could count on one hand the number of times he had been in the same room as him. But from what he had heard, the man was very introverted and more than a little stuck up. He lived according to the ritual and dogma of the high-classed nobility, and broke his creed only for the sake of those he loved, which was a grand total of two people: his deceased wife Hisana and his adopted sister Rukia.

Akai had done his research. He had snuck into the Grand Library, looked through the old records, and had seen it clearly with his own eyes. Hisana. Her name was spelt to mean "Crimson Truth." And the name of the seventeen-year-old girl who died by suicide in Dollard-Des-Ormeaux, Montreal, in summer 1993: Shani Albin. A name that means "Crimson" and "White."

Pêche Prunier's name was practically a translation of Hinamori Momo's. It was the same for all the former shinigami; their human names seemed to be derived from their past names.

For no discernable reason, just about everyone in Soul Society seemed to have Japanese names, even those who certainly did not look Japanese. Hinamori Momo became Pêche Prunier; when she would die, would she remember her name to be Hinamori Momo?

That seemed unlikely. Even though there hadn't been many, there _had_ been shinigami who had died by a zanpakuto in the past. If they called themselves by those same names a hundred years later, someone might perhaps have noticed, especially in the case of a lieutenant or a Captain.

He supposed that there was no reason to be getting into what-ifs at this stage. He would have to meet this young shinigami, and see for himself how this obscure system of life and death truly worked. It was ironic, he supposed, that even those brandishing the name "Death God" did not have even the foggiest idea as to the nature of life and death.

Akai, spiritual pressure suppressed to the best of his ability, finally found Byakuya and the girl. He crouched down on the rooftop, making sure to remain unseen.

The spectacle before him was even odder than he'd imagined it'd be. The two were sitting by a water fountain, facing each other, but daring only to meet each other's eyes in flickers. They spoke calmly, softly. It felt like they were in a world all their own. Akai couldn't have eavesdropped if he had wanted to.

He continued to watch the pair for some time, until at twelve thirty, on the dot, Byakuya rose to leave. They bade farewell to each other the same way they spoke, quietly, demurely. Byakuya shunpo-ed straight to the Sixth Division, and Akai in a flicker saw his chance. He jumped down from above and landed a few feet before the startled shinigami, words already on the tip of his tongue.

However, looking into her wide indigo eyes as she stumbled backwards, Akai thought maybe he should have thought that through a little more. Been a little more subtle, perhaps. What was he supposed to do now?

"Uh, hi," Akai started awkwardly. "My name is Minamoto Akai."

The girl measured him up silently, eyes revealing suspicion and just a little fear. "Good afternoon, Minamoto-fukutaicho."

"Uh…" Akai stuttered, racking his brain. What could he possibly say to her? "So, how are you?"

"I'm fine," the woman said, edging away just slightly. "I have to get back to my division…"

"Oh," Akai exclaimed, "Allow me to escort you! Which division are you from?"

She seemed almost unwilling to reveal this piece of personal information. "I'm in the Eighth Division…"

"Great," Akai shouted, happy that she had decided to answer his question. Of course, the overly-enthusiastic outburst went a long way to further spooking the poor newbie. "What's your name?"

She seemed much more hesitant than before, as if she was wondering if she could run back to headquarters before this man caught up with her. "Kouhaku Shinku…" Akai blanched.

"How do you spell that," he asked, despite the scared look in the girl's eyes. "Is it Kouhaku like 'red and white'?"

The girl had to wonder if he was a stalker. "No, it's Kouhaku like 'feudal lord'."

"And Shinku," Akai continued, unabashed. "Is it Shinku like 'crimson'?"

"No," she contradicted again, "it's Shinku like 'hardship'." Akai nodded, glazed eyes looking far away, a look of contemplation etched into his young, yet strangely worn, face.

"How long have you been in Soul Society?" Akai asked suddenly, turning to again face the demure young woman.

"About eighteen years, I think," Shinku revealed hesitantly, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear, and Akai nodded again, still distant.

"Okay, thank you, Kouhaku-san," the fukutaicho said, already turning away. "Have yourself a nice day." With those words, he disappeared out of there.

Kouhaku Shinku was her name. Quite different from Kuchiki Hisana, in pronunciation and in spelling, but there were similarities. Shinku could mean crimson, similar to the scarlet character in Hisana's name. Kouhaku could mean 'red and white' which was a direct translation of 'Shani Albin' and, he imagined, would relate once again to the 'scarlet' in Hisana, and maybe even to the 'white' in Byakuya's given name. Even the true spelling of Kouhaku hinted to her former life as a Kuchiki, itself one of the most prestigious families in the Seireitei…

As Akai contemplated this, he nearly ran headlong into Rangiku Matsumoto, who watched him with unreadable eyes, arms crossed over her chest. He played it cool. He couldn't afford any more screw-ups. "Good afternoon, Matsumoto-fukutaicho," he said, straightening himself to stand at attention.

Rangiku was still eyeing him speculatively. "What were you doing talking to Captain Kuchiki's friend?" Akai's face unwillingly twisted into a frown. He never knew how to respond properly to this woman. She was like a cat perched on a window sill; her eyes made you believe that she knew much more than she should.

"I heard you guys talking in the bar," Akai admitted, "and I wanted to check her out." Although not technically a lie, the nervousness in Akai's eyes betrayed him.

"Kira says you're acting strangely," she commented. "Says you spend a lot of time in the human world." Akai froze. Damn it.

The hesitation lasted only a second. "There has been an increase in the frequency of the appearance of high-profile Hollows lately. It is my duty to protect the humans in my Column to the best of my ability." He managed to keep his eyes and voice steadfast. The two shinigami stared into each others eyes for a long moment, neither flinching from the intensity.

When it seemed obvious that Minamoto wasn't going to let up, Rangiku's eyes softened in an almost knowing way, and she relented. "Alright, Akai," she said levelly, already turning away from the conversation, although her eyes hadn't left his. "I'll see you around." She was gone in a flash.

Akai looked back down at the water fountain below him, scowling at the cheerfully flowing water. It would be harder for him to move from now on. He'd have to be more careful; Rangiku had her eye on him, and, by the Gods, if that didn't spell trouble, than nothing did.


	9. Arc II: Dream

Arc II is complete, and one chapter will be uploaded weekly. I'm sorry for the delay, I go to a fancy school now. Very busy. Enjoy!

* * *

"Have you ever seen the stranger things? People's private hells, they've hidden well on closet shelves? Have you ever felt there was something there, as you've climbed to bed up a darkened stair? Or felt the presence and sensed the gloom, behind bolted doors, in shuttered rooms?

Stranger things than this, I have seen, stranger places, I have been, things that you don't want to know, places you don't want to go."

-Anonymous

* * *

She raised her hand and with a slight motion, just barely shifting the air, immediately, the Hollow was cut in two. With an incredulous, angry shriek, it disintegrated before Pêche's unbelieving eyes.

"What… was that?" The girl looked around her at the almost tangible darkness. "Who are you?" She felt the presence smirking.

"Now, don't be making me repeat myself."

Pêche couldn't understand. "How could you be me? I was a shinigami… How could something like..." Pêche tried to put what she was experiencing into words and failed, "you… exist?"

"I can show you it all, Pêche," the Dark said. "I can show you my origin, the origin of the shinigami. It is a power I can give to you."

"But, why?" Pêche demanded. The Dark smiled, a beautiful, hungry smile.

"Because, darling, something like you doesn't come around every day."

At that moment, Pêche's world turned to blackness. Darkness like liquid obsidian soaked through her skin, and she felt as if she was falling from the Earth into the empty, starless night sky. She felt the darkness pass through her, as if she was sinking, and it was then that she saw Her.

The form of a woman appeared before Pêche's eyes. With hair like stardust and eyes darker and more mysterious than the new moon, the celestial presence looked upon Pêche with a deeply personal indifference. The woman stepped forward in the void and, like a trick of the light, She took the form of a human woman. Pêche looked onto the woman's face, and recognized it as her own.

Wordlessly, the Lady's serene gaze opened the gates of Pêche's heart. She reached her hand out towards the transfixed child, and gently brought her finger to the center of Pêche's forehead.

Light shone upon the lightless universe, and its radiance was blinding. Pêche took a breath and basked in the otherworldly light, slowly fading to unconsciousness.

* * *

When Pêche's eyes came into focus and she regained her sense of identity, she was laying face-down in the sand. Gentle waves lulled her awake, the clear warm water rushing up to her waist and then retreating with a gentle whispering sound. After a moment of disorientation, Pêche noticed many things at once.

Somehow, she had found herself on a beach bordering a tropical forest. The wilderness was untamed and exquisite, towering trees and thick rich undergrowth lining the shoreline. Although the waters were calm near where she was, she saw further along the beach waves crashing viciously against jutting volcanic rock.

Everything about this strange place screamed raw and feral. She had treaded into unknown waters, a place where the air itself felt heavy with mystery. Never had Pêche felt such powerful spiritual pressure, and it was emanating from the land itself. It felt dense, primordial and so completely primal, like the way one feels in a particularly vivid dream.

Another thing Pêche noticed was that she seemed to be underground. What looked at first to be mountains of dark volcanic rock disappearing into eerie cloud-like vapour seemed to actually be pillars connecting the gigantic bed of uneven, tidal rock above to the world below. There was no sun, no central source of illumination. Instead, the whole world seemed to hum with a glow, like a million fireflies, infinitesimally small, gathering and moving and breathing as one in spectacularly vivid colours of blue and brown, red and green.

Pêche couldn't withhold a gasp as she turned towards the ocean. It was everything this world was, vast and heavy and primal in its power, and yet somehow tender and comforting in its warmth. The crashing waves and rising waters were a deep vivid blue unlike anything she had ever seen. The heady scent of ocean in the air was intoxicating, and Pêche couldn't help but peel off her wet socks and run into the warm water.

The ocean, like a mother, was comforting in her embrace, and Pêche splashed and played in the waters. She was laughing, laughing so hard that it surprised her, actually. She felt the primordial ocean all around her, murmuring with life the way that waves crash onto the shore, and the feeling was overpowering. Tears streamed down her face as she laughed and swam in the warm water. Her heart was as full and heavy as the ocean around her and she felt no need to hold back the emotions that overwhelmed her.

The force of her emotion was breath-taking, raw just like the world she had found herself in. She never wanted to leave, the spiritual pressure was so rich and heavy and it felt so much like home. She couldn't take it. She collapsed onto the beach in exhaustion, breathing heavily and smiling wildly.

"It feels amazing here," Pêche murmured to herself, eyes wandering to the huge amount of rock high above her. She supposed it should have scared her, but she couldn't muster even that bit of concern. Something in the air was so comforting. "What is this place?"

"It's your first time here," a voice noted from somewhere behind her. Pêche immediately sat up and looked behind her. How had she not known that she had company?

There was a man sitting casually on a rock, elbows resting on his knees as he watched the young girl with scrutiny. He had shocking blond hair, coal-black at the roots, splayed around his head carelessly. His eyes were as black and as deep as night. He was dressed in simple tan pants and a simple white shirt, and yet somehow he didn't feel out of place in this primordial world.

"Who are you?" Pêche asked in a murmur, still quite unaccustomed to the feeling in the air. The man, whose expression had been very neutral before, began to frown.

"Such a rude thing to say," the man scolded. "You're lucky it was me who found you, someone else might have been offended."

The girl shook her head, as if trying to remember her manners. "I'm sorry. I feel sort of confused…"

"That's natural," the man assured. "This world is made of an energy completely outside of your field of experience." Pêche tilted her little head in confusion, and the man sighed. He rose to his feet and walked towards the sitting girl.

"In time," the man said as he extended a hand, "it will all become clear. I could spend all day explaining this to you, but you won't really understand it until you experience it for yourself." Pêche took his hand, and with his help, rose to her feet. She brushed the sand off her red dress. The slender man stood much taller than she did, and she had to look up to meet his eyes. "My name is Blake, what's yours?"

Pêche blinked away the fuzzy feeling in her head. "My name is Pêche; it's nice to meet you Mr. Blake." The man frowned again.

"Just Blake," the man insisted. Someone older than Pêche might have noticed the bitterness behind his voice. "Save your formalities for the royalty." Pêche's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth as if to ask a question, but Blake was faster. "You'll see, you'll see. For now, we've got to get out of here." His sharp eyes shifted for a moment before he walked by the girl, expecting her to follow.

Pêche watched him walk down the beach for a moment before dashing to catch up. "Are we in a rush? Where are we going? Oh, and am I dead?" Blake shot the girl a surprised, if amused, look.

"Yes, we are in a rush," Blake replied. "I only have a limited amount of time to show you around before She takes you back, and there's someone else waiting for us at my campsite." He tried to hide the amusement from his face as the girl looked up at him with wide eyes, absorbing his words. "And, no, you aren't dead. Not anymore, at least."

"How?" Pêche pressed. "I saw my chain of fate break. That should mean that I'm dead." The memories were fuzzy, but she remembered that, at least. "And if I'm not dead, what am I doing here?"

"You _were_ dead," Blake clarified, pushing onward. They had reached a little river that fed into the ocean, and they were headed up it, into the forest. "But that sort of thing is irrelevant to Her."

Pêche knew the 'Her' he was talking about: the woman with the same face as her own. This man Blake, he seemed to know her well, this mysterious woman that embodied serenity. "Who is she?"

Blake looked back over his shoulder at the small child in his charge as he continued his trek. His face turned contemplative. "Who _isn't_ She, is a better question." The girl just looked confused, and the man heaved an internal sigh. He was no good with kids, he didn't understand why She had asked this of _him_. Despite his years of devoted service, despite the many times he had made the difficult decision and proved to Her his loyalty, She must still have seen him as a person as imperfect as the next.

What a sadistic Goddess.

"Pêche, the woman that you met today isn't a normal spirit," Blake tried to explain. "She's way beyond that, she's _everything_." The child's expressive eyes revealed that she still didn't understand. "Well, you've heard of God, right?" The child nodded.

"If I'm dead, I should be in Heaven with God, right?" Pêche asked after a moment of contemplation, not noticing as the man groaned in frustration. "But, oh wait, what about Soul Society?" Her brow furrowed with uncertainty. Which memories held the truth?

"You are not dead," Blake repeated, intoning each word individually for emphasis. "But you know what God is, right?"

"Yes," she said.

"Well," Blake tried to continue, crunching a whole lot of information into something package-able to the child. "Imagine God, except as a girl, a girl who's doesn't really do anything Herself, but lives through the people who carry Her." He watched as Pêche mulled this over in her mind, starting to lag behind him as she thought.

"That can't be," Pêche decided. "There's only God. There can't be another." Blake sighed. What had he heard about kids being _impressionable_, again?

"There is, you've met Her," Blake continued, forcing himself to remain patient. She was about to raise her voice in opposition, but Blake wouldn't have it. "Listen, Pêche, I understand that this is all very confusing for you, but you have to understand that I'm not here to convince you of anything."

"What _are_ you here for, then?" Pêche wondered.

"Just to show you the terrain," Blake answered. "This whole world is covered in thick forest, treacherous mountains and vast oceans. This is the first level of Hel, you'll need to know it well if you want to go any further." Blake paused. "And you definitely want to go down further; any distraction and the Lady is likely to _force_ you down through Hel in the most painful way possible. She doesn't take well to inefficiency…

"My comrade and I travel a lot, so you'll have to learn to venture in the forest by yourself if you're going to find us in the future. These woods can be dangerous if you're traveling alone, though, so we're going to have a lot of work to do before we can set you off on your own…" Blake chose that moment to turn back towards the child in his care, only to find her edging hesitantly towards the forest. "Hey, what do you think you're –" He cut himself off as Pêche dove into the underbrush, outstretched hands first.

"Hey, Pêche," the man growled loudly as he darted back to her side. With one muscular arm, he lifted her from the ground by the black belt of her red dress. She held something in her closed hands. "What do you think you're doing," he snapped, setting the girl down on her feet. She was looking at her hands. Blake's black eyes were on fire. "Wasn't I just saying that the forest is –"

Pêche smiled as she opened her hands and a frog jumped out. It landed on Blake before jumping back into the safety of the forest amidst the girl's joyous laughter. Blake was less amused. He glowered at her until she had quieted down and realized that she was in trouble.

"What would you have done if that had been a poisonous frog?" Blake demanded, voice surprisingly level. "Do you have _any_ idea how much trouble you and I would have been in?"

The girl remembered her mother saying that honesty was always best. "No, I don't…" Blake's mouth fell open, feeling completely disarmed.

"You would have been poisoned!" he exclaimed. "And there'd have been nowhere to bring you to cure you in time! The Springs are all the way across those mountains," he lectured loudly, pointing ahead to a large and distant mountain range, "and I can't be seen anywhere _near_…" He drifted off as he caught sight of tears barely visible in the girl's eyes and that slight puckering of her chin. He leaned back, running a hand over his face and through his hair. Blake heard a quiet sob. Damn, he really hated kids.

"Look, kid, I'm sorry," he said after a deep breath. "I know I'm not the right person for you, but for reasons that will go over your head completely, neither of us have a choice. I'm going to try to be patient with you, but you need to work on this too, okay?" His inquiry was met with wide teary eyes. He held back a groan.

"Just… follow me," Blake said wearily. "Keep your eyes open and don't touch anything." They moved forward again, and after a while, the sniffling behind him stopped. They abandoned the stream and made their way into the depths of the forest. The canopy of high trees made it difficult to see.

They made slow progress through the deep underbrush, even with the help of Blake's machete. Pêche was hurting herself with the uneven floor of rock and root and the skinny branches scrapping against her bare legs. As the minutes ticked by, Blake noticed that the girl was lagging, her breath short. With nothing more than an inaudible grunt, he bent down and instructed the girl to ride on his back. Their progress was much faster after that.

He led her onto a small campsite, obscured by tall trees and an abundance of green undergrowth. There was a fire burning low and an animal fur laid down next to it. Also plainly visible was Blake's friend, a gigantic panda. The panda turned his huge furry head towards the new arrivals, and Pêche's hands took firm grip of Blake's shirt. She watched the giant panda with frightened yet curious eyes from over his shoulder.

"Pêche," Blake started, smiling at the girl's reaction, "this is my comrade, Simone." Blake looked towards his friend whose smile revealed a healthy set of white pointy teeth. "Simone, this is the one the Lady told us about."

* * *

One week later, Pêche awoke in her hospital bed, to the immense relief of her parents. When Kiano, Ling and Aiden visited her, she recognized them only as children. She had lost all memory of her life as Hinamori Momo.

She did not speak a single word to anyone about her experiences in the forest. She did not tell a soul, even Minamoto Akai, her faithful companion ever since that day, about the Goddess, the Underworld, Blake, or Simone. She kept it all inside, convinced that no one would understand. She feared she would be put in a mental institute if her parents or teachers or friends found out about the things only she could see. She feared that Akai, the only person who accepted her spiritual powers as real, would think that she truly was crazy if he knew of her mystical and magical journeys to the center of the Earth.

Because of this fear, she looked upon everyone she knew with an intense sense of distrust, a feeling that became her default reaction to anything and that she lived with every day.

Every night, Pêche waited anxiously for the Darkness to come and take her home.


	10. Arc II: Sword

Pêche woke up in a different world than she had fallen asleep in. Her mother was in her room, fussing over her clothing.

"Pêche, wake up," Claire urged, "you're going to be late. Why didn't you take out your clothes for school like I asked you to?" Pêche mumbled an apology, and stole away to the kitchen.

"Good morning," Jean greeted with a smile as he flipped a pancake. "How did you sleep, sweetheart?" Pêche sat down at the kitchen table, and leaned her sleepy head on her palm.

"You're too young to be this tired in the morning," Claire said loudly as she strode into the kitchen. "How's breakfast coming, Jean?"

"Just a minute, honey," Jean cooed, reaching over to give his wife a loving peck on the cheek.

Pêche yawned as she stretched her arms above her head. It was a typical Thursday morning.

Claire dropped Pêche off at school on the way to the hospital, and after Pêche kissed her mother goodbye, wished her a good day at work, and left the car, she was greeted by her friend, Minamoto Akai. He was a spirit that only she could see, and her best friend.

"Good morning, Pêche," Akai greeted, waving his hand eagerly. "What's up?"

Pêche had to be careful when talking to him, because he was invisible. People would think that she was weird if she talked to someone who wasn't there.

"Good morning," Pêche replied once they had reached a safe distance from the humans, her smile made entirely of sunshine. "Nothing much, how are you?" They sat beneath a slim tree on the fenced school property.

"Gah, I'm in so much trouble, Pêche, you have no idea," Akai moaned, burying his face in his hands. He looked at Pêche's perplexed face from between his fingers. "When I left my office this morning, my boss came out of nowhere and I was like 'shit!'. Then he was all like 'where are you going again?'And I was like 'I have super important things to do elsewhere.' And he was like 'when you come back, we need to talk'."

"That doesn't sound so bad," Pêche dismissed with her tiny, girlish voice. "He's done stuff like that before."

"But this time's different," Akai moaned, doom and despair high on his mind. "He had this look in his eyes..."

"Doesn't he usually have an angry look in his eyes when he catches you playing hooky?" the ten-year-old girl asked, recalling the last time Akai had been so distraught.

Akai leaned forward. "But that's the thing, he didn't look angry! He looked suspicious!"

"He should have been suspicious all along," Pêche said idly, looking at her nails in disinterest like big girls do. "You're here all the time and you haven't told him why."

"Sometimes less is more, Pêche," Akai explained, feeling like he was talking to someone twice Pêche's age. "I act all embarrassed when he asks me where I go, and he'll assume I've fallen in love with a human girl. It's happened before, you know."

Pêche laughed. "Gross! You're way too old for me! What if someone comes to see for themselves, and they see you here with me?" Akai scoffed at the idea.

"I live in a world far, far away," Akai dismissed, "No one's ever going to go to the trouble of coming all the way here for _that_. I'm just afraid of getting _fired_!"

Pêche shrugged, eyebrows raised sceptically. "If you say so, Akai." Pêche rose to her feet and patted the dirt off her pants. She headed to class, Akai right behind her.

This day, like most days, was uneventful. Pêche wrote notes to Akai when she got bored in class, or didn't understand something. Akai was at school with her almost every day, so he was always helpful, even on things he wasn't very good at, like History.

When lunchtime rolled around, Pêche and Akai sat beneath their favourite tree and joyously ate their lunches. This was always fun, because Akai brought all kinds of strange foods that Pêche had never seen before, and he would let her try some. Pêche's favourite was Lucky Strawberry, a strange pastry made of rice and beans, with a strawberry in the middle. Akai brought one for her every day, loving the joy on the little girl's face every time he unveiled the tasty treat.

"Akai, who is your best friend?" Pêche asked as Akai took a tentative bite of her chicken salad sandwich. Akai thought about it a minute.

"You, probably," he said, and then pointed to the sandwich in his hands. "This looks funky, but it's really good." Pêche frowned.

"You know what I mean," Pêche whined. "In _your_ world." Akai smiled.

"Hmm," Akai thought aloud. "I don't really have a _best_ friend. I'm friends with all the people who have the same rank as me... except this creepy girl, Nemu... and this destructive little girl, Yachiru... and that assho – I mean, jerk from the Second... Actually, I don't really get along very well with many of them. Even Isane and Renji are sort of distant. But we talk." His smile had turned into a crooked, pursed thing.

"So you have no friends?" Pêche surmised, pity filling her eyes.

"No," Akai retorted, flustered. "It's just that... they don't trust me, I think. My boss has always had my back, but I think even he is starting to doubt me..." Akai drifted off, and Pêche didn't know what to say.

"Then why do you keep coming here?" Pêche asked in a low voice, honestly unsure. Akai smiled down on the little girl with genuine warmth.

"Even if it's once a week, even if it were once a month, or once a year," Akai explained softly, "if there's a chance that you're going to be in danger, I'm going to be here to protect you."

Pêche's eyes opened wide, heart swelling with warmth. "But, why?" Akai smiled again, laughing a little.

"Because I'm the only one who can," he said. He leaned back against the tree, eyes carrying a contemplative look. "At first, it was because I knew you were important to a lot of people. But now... it's because you're important to me." Akai looked back at Pêche and smiled. He noticed tears in her eyes. "Oh, sweetheart..." He opened his arms wide, and Pêche hugged him tightly, nestling her face into his chest. Akai stroked her hair. How he loved this child.

When Pêche had her fill of hugs, and telling Akai how nice he was, she sat back down to continue her lunch. She knew what was coming next. "Now, why don't you tell me how your night was?" Akai asked. Pêche bit her lip in apprehension.

"Don't worry about me thinking you're weird," Akai repeated for the millionth time that year. "I _live_ in a different world, _I know_ that other worlds exist!"

"But," Pêche proposed hesitantly, "maybe the world you go to is real, but mine isn't..."

"I have as much proof of your world as you have of mine," Akai reasoned, "and yet you still believe in my world, don't you?" The ten-year-old nodded, and Akai smiled. "So, what did you do last night? Did Blake bring you somewhere cool?"

"Blake and I trained again," Pêche started shyly. "He didn't go easy on me, and it hurt a lot. He said I broke some barriers, though, and that I'm improving a lot."

"What kind of barriers did you break?" Akai asked, intrigued, as always, by this child's experiences. And he thought the Shinigami Academy had been intense!

"Blake said that I have the technique down pat, and that I should be able to bring out my sword from my soul even while I'm in my body," Pêche mumbled, a little embarrassed. "But I haven't tried yet..."

Akai's eyes widened. "Why don't you try, then?" Pêche blushed.

"Okay..." She rose to her feet, and closed her eyes in concentration. In a practiced manner, she brought her hands to the left side of her waist, as if she were about to draw an invisible sword. Akai felt Pêche's energy rise, and all of a sudden, the energy coalesced as a spirit sword fitted neatly in Pêche's hands. Pêche opened her eyes, and held the sword up in amazement. It was pure sleek black, just like it was in the underworld.

"Wow, it worked," she cheered, jumping in excitement. "Look Akai, it worked!" The girl held out the sword to Akai.

"Wow, that's amazing," Akai exclaimed in genuine shock. He'd never heard of anything like it. "You are so cool, Pêche! Can I see? Can I see?" Pêche, smile as bright as can be, held out the sword to Akai, who took it with reverent fingers.

Akai drew the sword from its sheath, and examined the cool steel blade. He tested a leaf against the cutting edge, finding it perfectly sharpened. When he looked back at Pêche's expectant face, it almost felt irresponsible of him to hand this dangerous object back to this child.

"That is a nice sword," Akai said admirably. "Does it have a name?"

Pêche smiled with pride. "Her name is Pêche." Akai's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You and your sword have the same name?" the shinigami asked.

"Yup," Pêche replied simply. "Simone says that me, my sword, and the Goddess are all the same person. We're all Pêche."

"Well," Akai commented, astonished. "That's intriguing." Pêche laughed happily at Akai's obvious bewilderment, hands behind her back as she beamed her pride.

It was then that Akai sensed the Hollow. A very large reiatsu had appeared just on the other side of the school, he judged. It wasn't too large as to be out of the ordinary, but suckers like this certainly didn't come along every day. "Stay here, Pêche," Akai said, as he got to his feet and ran towards the school.

"Wait for me," Pêche followed happily, eager to try out her new sword on a monster. Akai stopped, and grabbed Pêche by the back of her shirt as she tried to run past him.

"You are _not_ going there, young lady," Akai scolded. "This is for trained adults only!"

"I am trained," Pêche retorted. "I spend every night training and fighting things! Now that I've got my sword," she said, holding up her sheathed sword for emphasis, "I can beat up the monsters!"

Akai brought his hand to his forehead and tried the rub the stress off it. The idea of Pêche fighting a Hollow was revulting. "We'll talk about it later. Now stay here and suppress your energy!" With those words, Akai left the pouting Pêche, jumping over the school to fight the Hollow. He landed gracefully on the edge of the roof, heroically looking upon the Hollow.

But he wasn't the first to the scene. Akai's mouth fell open in horror as he caught a glimpse of the beautiful golden hair of Matsumoto Rangiku, Fukutaicho of the Tenth Division. Horror overwhelmed him, and minutes passed in a blur. The Hollow was strong, probably a high-valued one, also. Rangiku's movements more graceful and more sure than he could ever manage, Akai could do nothing but stare as this gorgeous woman prepared to destroy everything he had ever believed in. His life was over.

"Who is _she_?" Pêche asked, small chin tucked into her palms as she leant on her elbows, reiatsu completely suppressed. She watched with interest as Rangiku finished off the monster with one fell swoop. Akai swung around to look at the tiny Pêche with incredulous eyes.

"_I told you to stay in the yard_," Akai seethed. How would he explain her to Rangiku? Panic struck like a hammer as he scrambled to think of something. He had to hide Pêche, but how? Akai suppressed his reiatsu and took hold of Pêche with both arms. The little girl's world was enveloped in black.

"Hey," she yelped, "what are you doing?" Akai ran across the roof carrying the girl, and just as he was about to jump down, she called out to him.

"Minamoto-fukutaicho," Matsumoto called in a voice that could not be argued with, "stop right there!" Akai winced, and his grip on Pêche tightened. He would protect her. He would protect her from Soul Society. He jumped off the roof, and shunpo-ed out of there as quickly as he could. Rangiku, eyes narrowing dangerously, pursued.

Akai didn't look back as he mingled with the populace in the streets. He just hoped that the home field advantage would be enough to shake Rangiku off his tracks. He looked for an opportunity to stash Pêche away, to hide her from Rangiku, but the shinigami was hot on his trail and Pêche was holding him so tight and she was so scared.

"What's going on?" Pêche begged to know, voice filled with fright and tears. Akai held her head against his chest firmly. He couldn't let Rangiku see her face. Knowledge of Pêche's existence would shake all of Soul Society to its foundations. His mind swam with all the repercussions. Chaos, nothing short of chaos.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he tried to soothe, "everything's going to be okay. Just keep your energy suppressed."

It was a small town, however, and both shinigami were very fast. Akai's home field advantage fell short, and he found himself dashing through open field. Matsumoto caught up quickly. Before Akai knew it, she was blocking his path, sword drawn. Akai's eyes filled with desperation.

"It's over, Minamoto," Rangiku said. "What are you doing here?" The man turned his back to Rangiku, and set Pêche down on her feet. He made sure to hide her face from the shinigami.

"Pêche, this is very important," Akai whispered. "You have to go home right now. Concentrate on Grandpa's energy, and run towards it as fast as you can." She shook her head slowly, denying every word Akai spoke to her. He wiped the tears from her small face with his fingers. He looked at her pleadingly. "Please, go on. I'll catch up soon." Pêche shook her head more vigorously.

"I won't leave you," she proclaimed, even as tears filled her eyes. "I _won't_ leave you."

"I'll catch up, I promise –"

"Minamoto," Rangiku interrupted, tone no-nonsense, "what's going on here? Who is this girl?" Akai turned towards his fellow Fukutaicho, eyes serious.

"You don't want to know," Akai said simply. "If you've ever trusted me, trust me now. You do not want to know." Akai looked back, and saw that Pêche was still there, clutching his pant leg. "Pêche, please go now."

"Minamoto, I don't understand," Rangiku started, approaching carefully. "You spend all your time here, you've gone to extraordinary lengths to filter information coming out of this area... And it has something to do with his child," the shinigami concluded, warm eyes piercing. "Who is she?"

Akai begged her to stop. "Please, Rangiku, trust me, it's better not for you to know..."

"I need to know, Minamoto," Rangiku stated simply. "If it's something this important, Soul Society needs to know." She was getting too close for comfort.

"Get out of here, Pêche," Akai ordered. Pêche shook her head again, and held on to his pants more tightly. "I said _get out_." Pêche recoiled, shocked by the anger in his voice. Pêche drew her sword.

In one fell swoop, before Akai or Rangiku could react, Pêche lunged towards Rangiku, sword leading the way. Rangiku blocked the attack just in time. She fell back.

"Pêche," Akai shouted, horrified.

"You have no right," Pêche screamed at Rangiku as she lunged at her again. Her eyes were crazed and dark and filled with tears. "You have no right to come here and change things!"

Rangiku was bewildered. What happened? This girl had totally snapped.

Rangiku's eyes widened in realization.

Snap.

In the blink of an eye, Rangiku disarmed Pêche and pinned her to the ground. The girl struggled, and Rangiku could recognize that face anywhere.

Momo.

Caught in this ground-shaking insight, Rangiku couldn't defend herself as Akai tackled her off Pêche. The two rolled across the dry field as Akai fought to overcome Rangiku's realization.

"Stay away from her," Akai screamed at the woman he caught beneath him. "Stay far away from her." Rangiku stared at him with wide eyes.

"She's..."

"No," Akai shouted.

"She is..."

"Shut up!"

"She's Hinamori Momo," Rangiku stated simply, eyes so wide they could take in the whole world. Akai became very quiet then. He stopped holding Rangiku down beneath him, and instead sat beside her, eyes filled with terrible apprehension. Rangiku sat up and looked to him. Everything was silent. "She's Hinamori. You knew."

"Yes," Akai admitted in a low voice, shoulders heavy. Pêche watched with big eyes, and she moved slowly towards where her best friend sat, defeated.

"Why didn't you ever tell anyone?" Rangiku whispered hoarsely. Akai looked at her with weary eyes.

"She's just a child," he pleaded. "She has no memory of her life as Hinamori. It's not right to try to make her Hinamori." Akai hung his head.

"But," Rangiku contested, still speaking softly, as if the truth would shatter the universe, "Soul Society needs to know. If Hinamori's still alive, what about others..."

"Rangiku, please don't," Akai begged, as Pêche finally arrived, holding Akai with both arms, as if to protect him. He stroked her hair gently with his hand, as he was fond of doing. "Don't do this to her. I'll tell you everything. Just, please, don't tell anyone."

"Gin," Rangiku started, tears filling her eyes like they hadn't for ten whole years. "Gin could still be alive." The shinigami stared at Pêche's face, the spitting image of Momo's.

This child's existence changed everything.

* * *

Akai brought Pêche home. Her parents had been informed of her disappearance and had been frantically searching for her. Rangiku watched in amazement as Akai returned the child to her parent's home. As Jean and Claire arrived, too overcome with relief to be furious with her yet, Akai looked to Rangiku. Time had passed, and they had both returned to their senses.

"You can't take her away," Akai argued. "If you tell Soul Society, they will take her away from her family and her world. Our Captains will be all over her, but she won't remember them at all. They'll try to turn her into someone's she isn't anymore, and maybe never was."

"But we can't just keep silent about this," Rangiku retorted. "Hinamori died by Aizen's zanpakutou, so it's reasonable to assume that the other shinigami destroyed by zanpakutou are also alive in the Material World as ten-year-old human children. Not only would this mean that Commander Yamamoto and Captain Soi Fong are alive, but Aizen, Ichimaru and Tousen, as well. The danger cannot be ignored."

"I've had years to consider it, Rangiku-san," Akai said, "and I truly believe that Soul Society is better off not knowing. At least not until we have evidence that whatever reincarnations might exist are planning to threaten Soul Society again. If we inform Soul Society now, then all that will result is chaos, and likely the persecution of children who have no knowledge of who they used to be or are powerless to pose a threat to Soul Society again."

Rangiku considered Akai's words. "Then I will investigate this," she said, already planning her next steps. Akai eyed her sceptically. "I'm at more freedom to investigate in secret, because my Captain isn't around much, and I can pretty much do whatever I want. I don't spend much time at the office, anyway."

"What about the paperwork?" Akai asked. Rangiku laughed.

"_I_ was never the one who did it," she replied condescendingly. "That's what Third-Seats are for." Akai chuckled. He walked towards Pêche's home, and gestured for her to follow.

"Come, Rangiku-san," Akai invited, smiling despite the seriousness of the topic at hand. "I have a lot to tell you."


	11. Arc II: Intrigue

"What's wrong with you lately?"

The question caught Rangiku off guard, and she nearly choked on her sake. Her wide eyes appraised the look on her Captain's face. "What do you mean?"

Toushiro's already sour face frowned. "Something seems off about you lately," the young Captain explained. "You seem less... cheerful." Rangiku laughed as convincingly as she could.

"The truth is, I'm pretty hung over..." But Toushiro didn't seem convinced. He stood before his Fukutaicho with his arms crossed, determined to get a real answer.

"I know, you haven't drunk this much this often in thirteen years," Toushiro noted. "It seems like every time I'm awake, you're either drunk or hung over."

"What can I say?" Rangiku slipped in slyly, mellow as can be and looking anywhere but her Captain's face. "I like to party."

Toushiro raised his eyebrows, looking almost bored. "Don't give me this shit, Rangiku. You're depressed."

"Toushiro, you're funny-"

"Don't try to feed me another excuse, Rangiku," Toushiro intoned. "Tell me what the hell happened. You've had it all together for so long, now all you do is sigh and look out into the distance and drink yourself stupid." Rangiku lowered her eyes, finally letting her sorrow touch them.

"Don't worry about it Toushiro. I'm going to be fine," she promised. Her shoulders slumped in a way that she wouldn't show in front of anyone else. Toushiro's eyes softened somewhat, and he pulled up a chair next to Rangiku at the bar. It was ten in the morning and the place was deserted.

"What happened, Rangiku?" Toushiro asked softly. She wouldn't look at him in the eye.

"I thought I had put it behind me," she confessed. "I thought so long as I put one foot in front of the other that I'd be able to move on." Tears filled Rangiku's eyes. "But it looks like I really am going to spend my whole life wondering where he's gone off to now." She leaned against her Captain's shoulder, accepting solace from the man, all while concealing the knowledge that would set him free of his bondage.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Minamoto got into the car next to Pêche. Preparations were as complete as they could be given the short notice, and all the fukutaicho could do now was act normal and remain vigilant.

"Do I really have to go to the baptism?" Pêche whined for the millionth time, clicking her seat belt on. "I can just stay in the hotel room, it's perfectly safe."

"No, Pêche, you're going," Claire said sternly. "All the family's going to be there, it'll look bad if you don't show up."

"But Aunty Jacqueline isn't bringing Frederic and Sebastian," Pêche protested. She raised her hand to block the strong late morning sun.

"But she's bringing Marie," Jean countered gently, as he backed the car out of the driveway. "Can you blame her for letting those boys stay home?"

"Don't you want to show all your second-cousins how beautiful you are?" Claire tempted. "You'll be the most beautiful girl at the party, you don't want to miss that, do you?"

Pêche blushed just slightly. "Mom, you're such a show-off. That's a terrible reason for going to a party. Besides, you're the one who's prettier than your cousins." Claire, touching up her makeup, winked at her daughter through the mirror.

"Oh no no no," Claire teased. "With that sexy red dress, you'll be the belle of the party. All the boys will be-"

"Gross mom," Pêche winced. "That's disgusting! They're family!" Jean laughed and Claire concealed a smile. Pêche crossed her arms over her chest.

"Are we going to see Mr. DuPont?" Pêche asked her parents out of the blue a few minutes later, watching the familiar shops wiz past her. "He hasn't come to visit in so long…"

Claire sent Jean a questioning look, and a volume of debate transpired in a few seconds. Jean replied. "Sure, sweetheart, we'll go see Mr. DuPont if he has time for us. You know he's been very busy working for the Ministry of Education." Pêche smiled, absolutely beaming.

"Yay," she cheered, facing Minamoto with a smile. "Maybe he could watch me while you guys are at the party!" The parents' eyes widened in horror.

"No," they replied urgently at the same time.

Pêche frowned, her plan foiled. She took out a notepad, and began drawing obscure symbols on it, as she was prone to doing in between monster attacks. Minamoto just looked out the window at the rolling countryside, closing his eyes for a few moments of rest.

The Prunier family's trips to Montreal were always big and complicated affairs. No, not for Jean and Claire, who had only to rent a hotel room, call up old friends and drive up to the city for a quick getaway. And not for Pêche, either, who had only to decide what clothes to bring, a responsibility any twelve-year-old girl was likely to enjoy. No, the only one who was truly overloaded with stress was Minamoto Akai, now the official fukutaicho of the Third Division.

It was a careful balancing act, planning for these week-long vacations. Pêche's reiatsu had gone off the charts in the last few years. The young girl was able to do things now that, quite frankly, amazed Minamoto. Her ability to read and manipulate reiatsu patterns exceeded even the legendary abilities of the Quincy. Pêche had this technique she called "the Philosopher's Stone," something that she had read about and deciphered the meaning of from old alchemic manuscripts, readily available on the internet. She told Akai that her spirit guides were teaching her how to use it.

At first, it hadn't seemed like anything impressive, the girl just sat there with her eyes closed and a look of intense concentration of her face. But over time, whatever the girl was concentrating on, it caused a tangible change in the reiatsu field of the area. It caused her to open up all of the reiatsu that she had had as Hinamori Momo, making her fukutaicho-level.

Moreover, there was the sense around her that her surroundings were extensions of herself. It was almost like the way the Quincy fought, except that she wouldn't take _possession_ of the spirit particles so much as she would _pass through_ them. "The extension of the spirit," is what she had called it. She could extend herself pretty far; her record so far was about a block in every direction. With each cubic meter that she extended herself through came a terrifying swell in her reiatsu.

Needless to say, that great power was also of great danger to herself and the people around her. Not only did her enormous reiatsu attract hordes of Hollows to the girl's small town, but it also threatened the girl's discovery by Soul Society. As the girl's reiatsu increased far beyond average human levels, the greatest challenge for Minamoto became to conceal the girl's existence.

He petitioned for the right to personally monitor the reiatsu distribution in the Third Column. He kept at the posts only his most trusted officers who would report directly to him and to him alone, all behind the back of Kira Izuru, the Captain of the Third Division. Minamoto also never allowed any photograph to be taken of Pêche, even when he requested dozens more shinigami to protect Montreal when the girl came into town. Because Pêche was a spitting image of Momo, Minamoto categorically denied the help of Abarai, Hisagi, and the other fukutaichos that had become his friends. The chance that they catch a glimpse of the child was just too great.

However, Matsumoto Rangiku had discovered Pêche's secret two years ago, and her help was invaluable when dealing with Soul Society and with Hollows. Akai had developed a sense of camaraderie with her, but he couldn't help but feel the feeling wasn't reciprocated; her eyes seemed distant now, more so than ever before. Matsumoto laughed less now. She always seemed to have something heavy on her mind.

The family got to their hotel room and began unpacking their clothes without incident. They ate supper in China Town, with Bubble Tea and pastries for dessert, and returned to the Holiday Inn for some swimming. Hollows popped up now and then, but there was always someone to deal with them. Minamoto thought that he might actually be able to relax this time around. And surely enough, all his meticulous planning paid off, and the first four days passed without major incident.

On the fifth day, after incessant whining from both Jean and Pêche, Claire allowed the family to make a trip to the Chapters on Sainte-Catherine for some book shopping. The book store was enormous. It had three floors and so many sections that each time the family visited, they quickly lost each other, each gravitating towards their own domain of interest.

Jean, a professional literary critic, was travelling through the best-seller racks with his wife, when the two came across an unexpected face.

"Jeremy Renard," Claire exclaimed in shock. The man turned around, that creepy smile stretching his face as always. "What a coincidence!"

"Oh well now," Jeremy said. "If it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Prunier! How have ya been? And what about precious little Pêche?"

"We've been great, so has Pêche," Jean replied, still wary of this man, but not letting it show. He smiled widely, showing lots of teeth. "She's grown up a lot, she'll be thirteen before we know it. How has Kiano been?" The parents continued the required small talk for quite some time.

Pêche, her interest in books more curiosity than habit, dashed from section to section, reading titles and occasionally taking out a book or two for examination. Eventually, she came to a section that both intrigued and frightened her. There were books on alchemy, something that she thought herself well-versed in, but also books on the meaning of dreams, on Tarot cards, and on witchcraft.

Pulled in by some dark fascination, Pêche took out a random book, coloured black and emerald green, and began reading the back cover. Unsatisfied by what she found there, she pulled out another, and then another. The concepts seemed so unrecognizable, and yet they did not feel alien. Deep in awe and humbled by the multitude of books, Pêche had to wonder where this intense draw was coming from.

She found her answer when she took out a large, thick book entitled "The Temple of Shamanic Witchcraft." The book weighed heavy in the girl's hands, and something told her that this was what she was looking for. Seeing that there were no free chairs to sit in, the twelve-year-old sat on the floor and began to flip through the pages.

Time seemed to fly by until Jean, having excused himself from the conversation to go find his daughter, caught sight of Pêche reading intensely from a large book. Smiling to himself, Jean approached her, but before he called out to his immersed daughter, he noticed which section Pêche had found herself in. Caught in a moment of hesitation, Jean wondered what course of action to take. When no clear answer presented itself to him, Jean crouched down before his daughter.

"Interesting?" Jean asked, smiling as Pêche's head flew up and her face became flushed with fear. "Don't worry, I won't tell Mom."

"I was just-" Pêche tried to explain, fearful of what her religious father would say to her reading such things. But Jean cut her off.

"No need to explain yourself, sweetie," the man said generously, as he sat on the floor next to his daughter. "It's perfectly natural to be curious. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking?" Pêche looked unsure. She looked into her father's eyes, and saw nothing but kindness.

"Dad…" Pêche started, unsure of herself. "Do you, you know…" Jean smiled encouragingly. "Maybe believe in ghosts?" Jean didn't flinch.

"I absolutely do." It was Pêche who was surprised.

"Why?" Pêche had never once heard her father even mention ghosts.

Jean shrugged. "A few years ago, something happened that made me absolutely sure that ghosts exist. It was a special little girl at a funeral who, I think, made everyone consider the possibility." Pêche didn't need to ask; she knew that the little girl had been her.

"I feel it calling to me. Really strongly," Pêche admitted in a mumble, unable to look her father in the eye. "For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to do this, to help people cross over and to protect people from evil spirits. There's so much that I can learn. I think I can really become good at this and protect a lot of people."

Jean smiled, pulling his daughter into a hug with one arm. "That's my girl."

"Huh?" Pêche said, looking up in astonishment.

"You like that book?" Jean asked. "I'll buy it for you, and we'll put it in a bag with my books. Mom doesn't even need to know." The man winked at his young daughter, whose face broke out into a broad smile.

"Thank you, Daddy," the girl cheered, hugging her father around the neck. Jean held his daughter close to him, hoping that he was making the right decision.

The touching moment was short-lived, however, as a horrible ripping sound rang in Pêche's ear. With the sound came the largest reiatsu that Pêche had ever felt, and it tasted of Hollow. Pêche instinctively jumped to her feet, and ran as fast as she could down the stairs. Jean grabbed her arm.

"What is it?" he asked in confusion. He was struck by the urgency in his daughter's eyes. A long-buried instinct shone through the chaos.

"I have to go, wait here," Pêche all but shouted, trying, but not quite able, to struggle out of her father's grip.

"What's the matter? Tell me," the man demanded. The struggling girl looked like she was about to cry from frustration.

"It's a monster, it's going to kill people, I have to stop it," Pêche rushed out. She managed to break her father's hold and began running again. Overcoming his shock, Jean chased after her.

Once she got out on the street, Pêche was blown away by the sight she was met with. The sky had been torn like a curtain, and out from the blackness behind the sky had emerged a Hollow of a size that rivalled the skyscrapers of downtown Montreal. Pêche's face paled at the destruction that something of that size could cause in a metropolis like this.

"What are you looking at Pêche?" Jean demanded. "What's going on?"

"I-I've never seen one that big before," Pêche voiced, still shell-shocked. "What is that?"

When the monster took a step, the ground rumbled like an earthquake. Jean eyed his daughter in amazement. Could she actually see what was causing it? All this was impossible.

The tremor seemed to jolt Pêche from her stupor. "Dad, you have to wait here. I have to go stop it." With just those words, Pêche took off down the busy streets in the direction of the monster, Jean coming up fast behind her and shouting after her. When the two had finally arrived, Pêche saw Minamoto already there, fighting the monster while trying at the same time not to let it destroy anything.

Pêche realized she couldn't handle this thing in the usual way. She sat down against the side of a building and closed her eyes. In a few moments, Pêche had detached herself from her body, and clad in her usual black training outfit and with her black sword sheathed at her side, she took to the offensive. Jean was left to hold his unconscious daughter's body and to try to piece together just what was happening.

Sword in hand, Pêche threw herself into a lunge, slashing viciously at the monster, to no avail. She threw energy attacks, but she didn't have enough power to back them up. Growling in frustration, Pêche calculated her options as she deflected the monster's attacks away from the city.

"Pêche," Minamoto shouted, dodging a swipe from the Hollow. "Pêche! Do that thing where you increase your energy!"

"What?" Pêche asked, throwing another energy attack at the monster.

"You know," Minamoto prompted. "Where you extend your spirit!" Pêche suddenly realized what he meant.

"How will that help with anything?" Pêche asked, trying to block the monster's attack, but instead being thrown away by the force of it.

Minamoto's brow furrowed in frustration. "What do you mean that won't help anything? You can pour more energy into your attacks that way!"

"But the Philosopher's Stone is just seeing the world as one united organism, it has nothing to do with fighting!" Minamoto's mouth dropped. Where the hell had she gotten that from?

"That technique of yours harnesses power! You can use it to fight this thing," Minamoto exclaimed in disbelief. How could she not have known that? What was Blake teaching her down there? Pêche looked unsure.

The Hollow fired a Cero at Pêche, but Minamoto was able to get between the red beam of energy and the girl, and absorbed the shock into his sword. He looked at Pêche over his shoulder with urgency in his eyes. "Go! Just do it!"

Pêche fell back, sitting upon the roof of a nearby building. She had to figure out how to do this, or this Hollow would unleash total destruction upon this city. The lives of the people below her were in her hands. Pêche closed her eyes. She saw a water drop.

The water drop fell from the sky. It landed in the forest. It nourished the plants, it fed into a river. It became the salmon. The water drop joined the ocean. The salmon was hunted by a bear, who fed her cubs. The salmon was caught by a fisherman. The ocean roared with sea life and boats and thunder storms. The fisherman brought the salmon home. His wife and daughter made a delicious supper. There was love, tension, kindness, hatred. That man and woman had parents and children and siblings and friends. And all of those parents and children and siblings and friends felt happiness and pain. And they went to work and school and to the movies and the grocery store. They were neighbours to each other, each life vividly filled with passion and boredom and uncertainty and love.

The water drop landed upon a woman crying alone in the rain. And upon a delicate leaf in the Amazon. And upon a man bleeding to death in an alley. And upon a Hollow disguised as a little girl, standing before a raging river, luring a devoted mother to her death.

The whole world, all of time, came together before Pêche's very eyes. Every speck of matter and packet of energy collected as one living, breathing creature, with herself in the center. She held the whole world in her heart. She even held this Hollow before her within her very soul.

And she tore it. She willed it to disperse. She willed the gigantic Hollow to be purified. She set it on fire.

Minamoto watched with incredulous eyes as the Hollow simply dissolved. Pêche had done nothing but sit upon the roof in silent contemplation for a few minutes, then opened her eyes and gazed at the Menos Grande. The reaction had been instantaneous. The Hollow began to silently dissolve, without a sound logical reason for it. Minamoto was beyond amazement.

The rift in the sky disappeared along with the Menos, and order returned to the World of the Living. Minamoto, overcoming intense surprise at the extent of Pêche's spiritual abilities, joined her on the roof top.

"Wow," Pêche breathed. "That was amazing." She looked up at Minamoto with wide eyes, breathless. "I felt the whole world. I _was_ the whole world. We were… one. Just one." Pêche lied herself down, feeling exhausted and exhilarated, all at the same time. The feeling was too much to take, her head felt heavy. She felt like her heart would burst open. She was glowing.

Minamoto smiled down at the girl. She never ceased to amaze him. He sat down next to her, and patted her comfortingly on the head. He waited till Pêche opened her eyes wearily before gathering her little body into his arms and flying down to where the girl's human shell lay. His smile was like that of a father, beaming with love and pride.

Akai never noticed the presence of Matsumoto on the roof of a nearby building, watching as Pêche and her father, whose memory of the event Akai had replaced, returned to Claire's side. Standing beside Pêche's mother, right there on the sidewalk of Sainte-Catherine, was a grey-haired man with a fox-like grin. And Rangiku thought she should be struck blind if he hadn't looked up at her with that usual devious twinkle in his eye.

* * *

Deep in the darkness of a cave, Blake walked forward blindly. His hands reaching out before him kept him from walking into the twisting walls of the cave. In one hand, he held a chalice filled to the brim with Moonlight water, an offering to the Goddess. He took each step of his pilgrimage with great care, black eyes searching the darkness for Her.

"Great Queen," he called with a quiet, reverent voice. "Phantom Queen of Terror, Raven Women of the Dark, I call upon you. I call upon the Triple Goddess." He fell into silence again, but kept moving forward. The chalice spilt over onto his hands now and again, and the Moonlight water chilled his skin. Eventually, he felt Her presence encroaching. He went no further.

"My Lady," Blake beckoned, humbled by the darkness, "the child has come of age. She has bled for the first time, precisely thirteen years after conception."

The darkness moved.

"I wish to transmit to her the Teachings," Blake continued. "I wish to make her realize the reason for her existence. I await only Your command, Dark One."

The darkness moved again. "Very well, Blake. You must handle her education with utmost care. There is no room for failure. She is the only one who can do this task for me, and it is long overdue."

Blake prepared himself, straightening his back and raising his chin. "My Lady, what do you have planned for Pêche?" An eye formed of darkness watched Blake, calculating his reaction.

"Pêche is charged," the eternal voice reverberated, "with the annihilation of the Soul Society."

Blake's chalice fell from his hands and hit the floor with a hollow, echoing thud.


	12. Arc II: Trust

This chapter was written a _long_ time ago, as the more political among you will notice. Quick disclaimer about that, by the way: **I do not mean to diss or praise anyone in this chapter**. I know you guys are all cool, but I get into enough internet arguments as it is, so please remember that this is a fiction, so just don't try to be offended. And if you're like most people and don't give a damn about politics, then please bear with me for, like, five sentences :D.

Also, I got the kinks worked out the rest of this arc, so I'll be updating every week. Except for two weeks at the beginning of May, I'll be on sight studying geology! Yay! Only four more chapters until the end of this arc, and then we'll be getting to the really good stuff. Please enjoy!

* * *

_A few months later..._

"Where's the clickity-click?" Pêche shouted frantically. "Where is it, where is it, where is it?" Her father, Jean, seemed unmoved by the girl's rush, still lounging comfortably on the couch, watching some sort of medical-romance-suspense-drama on the television.

"Don't know," the man replied, yawning a little. Pêche stopped her frantic searching for a moment and turned towards her father, balled fists on her hips and a stern look in her eyes.

"Didn't Mama say that she was in the mood for chocolate mousse for dessert tonight?" Pêche reminded cruelly. Jean's eyes widened, and he jumped to his feet.

"Uh oh," was all the middle-aged man said as he ran as fast as his legs could carry him to the kitchen. Pêche, despite it being a waste of valuable time, couldn't help but enjoy her father's torment to the fullest.

"You better hurry, Papa, Mama will be home from work in less than fifteen minutes!" Pêche heard the crazy clanking and slamming of pans and bowls and cupboards. Having had her fun, she reached below the cushion of the couch her father had been lounging on, and quickly found the slim black remote control.

Filled with terrible eagerness, Pêche pressed the numbers "3" and "6" as hard and as fast as she could, waiting with baited breath as the television loaded the command. She squealed with delight as a familiar face lit up the screen.

"I'm home," Claire greeted a few minutes later, kicking snow and slush off her boots. She looked across the hall into the living room and saw Barack Obama on the television, and her daughter sitting too close to the screen, paying rapt attention. "CNN again, Pêche?" Claire asked, amused. She peeled off her winter jacket and hung it in the closet.

"Town Hall Meeting. Barack Obama," was all Pêche said, taking full advantage of the President's pause for applause. Claire rolled her eyes at her only child's hopeless obsession. The mother couldn't complain, though; while most of her friends' daughters were obsessed with the Jonas Brothers or Vampire Edward (an attraction Claire never really understood), Claire only had to deal with a daughter whose obsession lay with a political figure in another country. Over all, it was much more innocent than being in love with a teenage heart-throb. Claire Prunier was one to look on the bright side; at least Pêche wasn't thinking of boys and dating yet.

As Claire was counting her blessings, she didn't notice her husband approaching her from behind. Jean wrapped an arm around Claire and kissed her head tenderly. He held out strawberries covered in melted chocolate. "Welcome home, sweetie. Eat them while the chocolate's hot," Jean said as he moved back towards the kitchen.

Claire smiled at the offering. "You forgot about the chocolate mousse?" She turned back towards her husband, and found him frozen in his tracks. She laughed. "It isn't a big deal, we'll make it together!" She took a strawberry in her mouth and moved in towards the kitchen. Jean stopped her, making his body a blockade.

"No, you worked all day, I want to spoil you," Jean said firmly.

"It's okay, really," Claire insisted. "We'll do it together, it'll be fun."

"SHHH!" Pêche hushed, "Barack is talking!" She leaned her cheek against her knee, watching the politician with shining eyes. She sighed dreamily. "He's perfect."

Minamoto Akai, seated casually beside Pêche, back against the side of the couch, couldn't fathom the attraction. Sure, he seemed like a smart guy, but the look in Pêche's eye spoke of unequivocal adoration. Akai shrugged and looked back at his cell phone. He decided to send a text message to Captain Kira, who was by now wondering where in Hell Akai had disappeared to again.

"He's hardly perfect," Claire remarked, handing Pêche the bowl of strawberries. Pêche looked up at her mother in shock at the blasphemous statement. "He still hasn't been able to set Wall Street and Corporate America straight, he's appointed lobbyists to high-level positions even after he promised not to do just that, and he obviously hasn't done a good enough job speaking truth to crazy when it comes to Health Care," Claire pointed out, motioning to the television. Pêche scowled deeply.

"Barack has great ideas, it's not his fault that the Congress is too conservative to pass anything that isn't horribly watered-down," Pêche countered, getting progressively louder. "The lobbyists he appointed are the most capable for the job, and it's also not Barack's fault that so many people in the United States have so much irrational fear! I think he's doing amazingly well considering how conservative it is down there and how much Congress Democrats suck. You're always so fast to short-change him!"

Claire smiled. She could see her daughter was getting really riled up. "What about gay rights? Obama hasn't done nearly enough, don't you think?"

"He's making progress, doing things methodically," Pêche sniffed, offended.

"Really, now?" Claire asked. Pêche frowned.

"Barack has his reasons. He's just as devoted to gay rights as before," Pêche asserted. "He's going to make it happen for sure."

"I suppose," Claire shrugged. "It's just a little sad that Dick Cheney is more progressive on the issue than Barack..." Pêche froze. She watched the rest of the Town Hall meeting in a bristled silence. When it was over, she skulked back to her room without a word. Akai watched as she sat on her bed and brooded in the dark.

It was then that Minamoto Akai realized something very important: Death does very little to change a person's personality.

* * *

"Sometimes, it's just like she's _trying_ to pick a fight with me," Pêche complained as she trekked through the dense forest. "It just drives me crazy. I have complete faith in Barack Obama."

"That's probably why she keeps challenging you," Blake remarked impassively. Pêche turned around to glare at the older man. "Don't give me that look. Your mother seems like a smart lady, she probably realizes that it's unhealthy for you to think someone is perfect."

"But Barack isn't just someone," Pêche countered, a dreamy look crossing her face. "You'd understand if you saw him. He's honest and smart and articulate. I feel like he really understands and he's watching out for all of us. He's a real inspiration."

Blake was silent a moment. "Yes, your mother is definitively smart for trying to bully some sense into you. You trust people too much."

Pêche scowled. "There's nothing wrong with trusting people who are deserving of trust."

"That's the point," Blake explained, "you can't know who's deserving of trust."

"I can tell," Pêche contradicted, pouting. "I'm a great judge of character." Blake tried to withhold a laugh, but it just turned into a rough snort.

"What?" Pêche demanded, indignant.

Blake couldn't keep the smile off his face. "If you knew half the things I know about you, you'd realize how ridiculous you sounded just now." The smiling man moved up ahead. "Now hurry up, kid." Pêche frowned.

About twenty minutes later, Blake stopped, so abruptly that Pêche almost walked right into his back. "Why did you stop?" she asked. They were still surrounded by forest.

"This is as far as I go," Blake explained, sharp black eyes pointed forward, through the trees. "There's a town just a few dozen meters in that direction. There's something you need to do there." Pêche's eyebrow wrinkled in confusion.

"Why can't you come with me?" she asked.

"Firstly, and most importantly," Blake explained, "this is an exchange. Simone and I have started training you in the art of the sword and hand-to-hand combat. It is time for you to repay the favour. Secondly, in the eyes of most of the people in this kingdom, I am a traitor. There is a large bounty on my head, therefore helping you here would do nothing but cause unnecessary trouble."

Pêche felt indignant; if this was some sort of contract, why hadn't she been informed earlier? But still, Blake and Simone had done many things for her, and they were her friends now. She supposed she didn't mind doing something for them.

"What do you want me to do?" Pêche asked, ready to roll up her sleeves and get to work. Blake looked down at the small girl, brown eyes bright with determination and an eagerness to please that was only accomplishable by someone untouched by corruption. This might have been the last time he'd ever see that in Pêche's eyes.

"There is a man in this village named Innolt of the Light Elves," Blake explained. "You must find him, lure him to a secluded location, and kill him. As proof of his death, you are to bring back one of his teeth." Pêche's face lost all colour. She was horrified.

She grappled for words. "Why?"

Blake's face was serious and blank of emotion. "Innolt is a powerful, wealthy man who desired a daughter of the Goddess. She turned him down, the aggressive and temperamental man. Innolt had her killed, and he now holds a grudge against those who follow the Lady's path. His wealth is a powerful thing in a world so corrupt." Blake turned towards Pêche, who had the look of someone completely overwhelmed.

"This is the Lady's wish," Blake stated. "There is no escape. This is the life of those who follow the Morrigan. It is better that you learn that sooner rather than later."

With no words of comfort, Blake sent Pêche off on her first mission. He didn't enjoy doing it; despite how aggravating the girl's endless naivety was, Blake was wise enough to know that the world she saw with those eyes was what the world was meant to look like. He knew that it wasn't Pêche that was wrong, it was everyone else, the rest of the world.

Blake let out a deep sigh. It was painful setting the girl off into the world like this. She had never known loss before, never known true anger or true hatred. He knew she would see it all eventually, he just wished that it didn't have to be him to crush her dreams. Blake had thought he had gone through enough.

Silently, the young man sat down at the base of a tree. He leant his head back against the rough bark and watched the leaves sway gently against the wind. "Oh Eternal Mother," Blake murmured, eyes closing with pain. "Why must I relive this? I have already lost one child, why must I lose a second?"

Pêche shook violently on her thin legs as she walked out of the forest and into the town. The roads were made of salmon-coloured brick and the houses were made of neat burgundy wood. The streets were busy with people going about their lives. This man she needed to kill, Innolt, he could have been any one of them. Pêche's hand clamped over her mouth in an effort not to throw up.

The young girl sat down on the front step of a bakery, trying desperately to gather her composure. She thought she was going to be sick. Cold sweat covered every inch of her skin. There was no way she could kill someone. She wouldn't do it. She refused.

As if angered by her thoughts, the world lost focus in Pêche's eyes. She heard screaming in her head, the screaming of a young woman, in a flash, she saw the flushed, panicked face, the horror, the blood. Pêche closed her eyes against the visions that felt so angry at her.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" a voice broke through Pêche's reverie, and her head jerked up to face a young man. He was frowning deeply as he looked down at her, as if she were an eyesore.

Pêche managed to come to her feet. "I'm looking for the police," she intoned weakly.

"What a coincidence," the man said, dripping sarcasm, "I am the police. Now do you mind telling me why you're here?" The insistence in the man's voice was unnerving. Looking around, Pêche noticed that everyone was looking at her now. Had she done something wrong? Was the guilt on her shoulders as obvious as the guilt in her heart?

"I have a crime to report," Pêche said in a shaky voice. "There's a man here who hired people to kill a young woman..."

"There have been no murders here," the police officer contradicted. "Only righteous killing of those who seek to destroy the fabric of progressive society."

Pêche's eyes widened. "Wh-What are you talking about?"

"Listen here," the man said, moving closer to the startled girl. The move was threatening, "we don't take well to your kind here. We are a progressive society, and we don't want some washed-up dark Goddess taking control of our lives."

"Washed-up Goddess?" Pêche repeated. "No, She's not trying to control anyone..."

"Then why are you here?" the man demanded. "If it isn't to fulfill the wishes of your maker?"

Pêche just stood there, shell-shocked. She had nothing to say. What was going on? The man grabbed her by the collar and dragged her away.

She couldn't move. Her body was frozen. She found that she couldn't resist this person, because she couldn't convince herself that he wasn't right.

Pêche had been sent to this town to kill someone. She hadn't been given the choice to refuse; the moment she had contemplated refusing, she'd been attacked by angry visions of the victim's murder. She had never been given a choice when it came to her powers. They had been given to her so that she would further the goals of the Goddess. There was no freedom there. What was she doing here?

She found herself in a courtroom. People had quickly assembled to proclaim her guilt, one of whom was an older man, dressed in strange white clothes who sat at the front of the room facing the townspeople. Pêche raised her voice over the endless hum of the townspeople.

"Wait just a minute!" People turned to look at her, but the room didn't get much quieter. She continued nonetheless. "You say the Goddess is trying to control you, but aren't you just as bad? How many people do you want to murder before you realize that you can't destroy Her? She's just as much a part of you as She's a part of me!"

"That is just propaganda," the man in strange clothing dismissed from his seat on some sort of pedestal. As he spoke, the room went silent. He raised his arms, and his white sleeves billowed forth. "Citizens, the Morrigan is the source of all evil in this world. She is the impulse that is corruption, seeking to divide us, to enchant us with dark magic. She is what convinces ignorant girls like this one that she is someone better than everyone else." Everyone's face turned very sombre.

"We have all seen the destructive consequences of the Morrigan's overreaching," the strange man in white continued. "We all remember the Battle of the Plain of Pillars, where we fought against the conquering Dagda?" The townspeople roared. "We all remember the Massacre of the Six Lambs?" Again, the townspeople roared.

"The Darkness is the enemy of enlightened society," a woman shouted. "Death to the Angels of Darkness!"

"Stop! Just let me speak," Pêche shrieked over the noise. This time, the man on the pedestal waved his hand, and the people quieted down. Pêche looked around helplessly, tears in her eyes. "The Lady saved my soul when I was eight years old. She's taught me how to fight, but also how to work for a higher good and to live in service to others.

"She isn't evil, and neither are the people who serve her. We only want to improve life for the people of our worlds." Pêche's cheeks were flushed with emotion.

The man on the pedestal contemplated this a moment. "You truly believe this, don't you, girl?"

Pêche's eyes held firm. "I do."

The middle-aged man almost smiled. "How old are you, girl?"

"Thirteen," Pêche answered, surprised by the question, but remaining steadfast.

"Hmm," the man hummed loudly, mulling over his next move. His sharp green eyes pierced Pêche's soul. "Town's people, your ever-Merciful High Priest Innolt chooses to release this creature on condition of spiritual purification." Pêche blanched at the realization. This was the man she was to kill.

The people rejoiced. The girl was to be saved. The High Priest looked down at Pêche with tender eyes. "Come with me, child, so we might free you from bondage." Pêche was forced to her feet by two guards on either side of her. She was then released, and the police stepped back from her.

Pêche didn't know what to make of this. What did this man want to do to her? Should she try to run away? The High Priest approached her, cupping the girl's slender shoulder in his hand. "This way, to my private quarters." The two walked towards the back of the room, and entered a small white door.

The door led to a steep, dimly-lit staircase. Pêche felt distinctly uneasy.

She soon found herself alone in the High Priest's private rooms. The rooms were small, but well-furnished. A large bed sat at the far wall. The High Priest sat down on it, and patted the spot beside him. Pêche froze on the spot.

"Don't be worried, my sweet," the man purred. Pêche's heart jolted.

"You'll see the error of your ways soon," he continued. "When we're done here, you'll walk through this door a reborn woman. Please, come sit beside me." Pêche felt like she should approach. It'd be rude not to. She leant against the nightstand beside the bed.

"Why so far away, my flower?" the High Priest asked, voice like honey. Innolt's eyes soothed her, a magical charisma.

Pêche jolted, as if from a dream. This was dangerous. This man was no good. She had to get out of here. Pêche turned towards the window. Innolt took hold of her by the wrist. She fought back against his grip, but the man was strong. He pulled her towards him, and Pêche was forced onto the man's lap. Pêche cried out for help, voiced choked with fear, but she knew all along that no one would come for her.

"Calm down, child," the older man tried to soothe, "it's all going to be okay." One hand held Pêche down against the bed, while the other smoothed her hair against her head, then travelled down her back and lingered over her pants line.

"Get off me," Pêche shrieked, struggling against the man's hold. "Get off!" Pêche could feel, with a sickening feeling in her gut, Innolt's excitement as his hands traced the lines of her body. With one hand, he felt every inch of her shoulders and back. His hand traveled lower. Pêche screamed like she never had before, eyes wide in horror.

"Please try to enjoy this, my sweet," the despicable man purred. At that moment, something in Pêche snapped.

The man flew off of Pêche, smashing violently into the opposite wall. Pêche was on her feet, eyes filled with fear and her sword in her shaking hands. The man stood, disgruntled and fierce, and in a split-second he threw a solid punch into Pêche's jaw. She stumbled back, hurt and afraid. She held the sword tightly in her hand.

"You... You..." she murmured, tears rolling down her cheek. She felt so violated. Pêche held the sword towards him. Innolt smiled a threatening smile, and Pêche's grip on her sword tightened even more. She screamed, at the top of her lungs. "You're going to pay for this!"

Pêche lunged towards the man, but he dodged to the right. He positioned himself to deal a solid punch to the girl's back. In a trick of swordplay, Pêche used the palm of her left hand to pivot the sword around and stab Innolt in the leg. The man was still able to deal a heavy punch, and Pêche fell forward onto the bed. She caught herself, however, and used the bed as a platform to launch a back-kick. The new injury causing him some misbalance, Innolt was not properly able to sidestep the kick, and received a solid blow to the eye. The man fell backwards, dizzy.

Pêche turned around quickly to face her molester. "You're going to pay," she repeated. "You are going to pay." She lifted her sword, and swung it down forcefully over Innolt's shoulder, breaking the collar bone. The man cried out in agony.

She didn't stop there. Pêche kicked the man in the chest, pushing him down so that he was flat on his back. She then sat atop him and stabbed in the chest with her sword. She stabbed him again and again, hitting his gut first, then his lungs. She attacked his face next, giving the man a mauling worse than any bear or wolf could have done. The blood poured out of him in rivers of red, covering her sword, her clothes, and her arms. The endless stabbing even shot blood up to Pêche's cheeks, just barely missing her haunted and terrified eyes. Pêche continued stabbing the man long after he was dead.

And then she just sat there.

Her hands were soaked red. The wood floor was drenched in blood. Innolt's body was so mangled and chopped that it was debatable whether the creature had been a man or a goat. Yet Pêche just sat there, straddling his hips, covered from head to toe in his blood.

She felt like she should be crying, but no tears came.

When her mangled and beaten heart refused to stir, Pêche dug her blood-soaked hands into Innolt's mouth. She cleaved it open, and with her sword, pried off one of the man's teeth. That done, she opened the window, and disappeared into the twilight.

* * *

Blake had nearly had a heart attack when he saw the condition in which Pêche returned. She was soaked in blood and had a broken, empty look in her eyes. It was deeply haunting.

She had given him the tooth, wordlessly, emotionlessly. And then she asked to be brought home. Blake was heartbroken at the sight. He stopped at the river on their way home, and asked if she wanted to take a bath. It wasn't an odd thing for them to do; after a night of fighting and sweating, Blake and Pêche would often bathe together in a river or lake. It was something that they had always done, ever since Pêche was a child and Pêche had never before been uncomfortable undressing in front of Blake or seeing Blake undressed. They had a camaraderie that transcended such things.

But this time, for some reason, Pêche's eyes grew wide at the suggestion, and her back curled in fear. She pleaded to be returned home. Blake, resigned and hurt, brought Pêche home.

As he watched the girl's fitful sleep that night with his head hung low, Blake could only think that, after all this time, he had finally had a daughter again. And, by his own fault, yet again, he had indeed lost her.


	13. Arc II: Pariah

"Perhaps we should have started off with something easier," Simone remarked softly. He gently nudged the large brown sack with a white and black paw. "We should have started with something like this."

"Well, it's too late for that now," Blake replied, voice monotonous. He looked ahead into the dark forest contemplatively. The sounds of the night and the crackling of the fire surrounded him. "That was all we had at the time. We would have done it this way if we could have." Despite the certainty in his voice, his eyes betrayed his regret. "I just hope she's recovered enough to be able to handle this."

Pêche arrived moments later, eyes sullen and dull as they'd been ever since that night six weeks ago. She used to arrive so excited, so eager, but now her nightly arrival to the depths of the Underworld looked to be a curse to her. Blake was resolved to change all of that tonight.

"Pêche," he started with a hard voice. "Innolt of the Light Elves, what did he do to you?" Blake's deep black eyes were piercing.

"I killed him," Pêche replied, eyes stuck to the ground. She stood awkwardly on her feet, as if the ground she walked on was brittle and might break beneath her modest weight.

"What did he do to you?" Blake pressed, voice becoming strained, but remaining quiet in the night.

"I cut open his stomach, shoved my sword around in there. Then I ripped open his chest..."

"He raped you, didn't he?" Blake finally said, and it made Pêche go silent.

"He tried..." Pêche corrected. "I got very scared and angry and I killed him. I enjoyed killing him." Blake nodded to himself, looking down at the floor. A flurry of emotions swelled within him, but when he looked back up at Pêche, his eyes were resolute. He took the girl by the shoulders, eyes boring into hers.

"And if you hadn't killed him, Pêche," Blake said, intoning every syllable with intense purpose, "right now, he'd be raping someone else. He'd rape a girl or boy that wouldn't be able to protect themselves." Pêche held her breath. Blake just stared into her eyes more intensely. "Because of you, no one can be hurt by that man again." Pêche's breathing grew heavier with her discomfort, and she struggled to maintain eye contact with Blake's smouldering gaze. "There are bad people in the world, Pêche, and bad people need to be punished." Pêche eyes were wide and stuck to Blake's, engulfed in his vision of the world. "But the worst people out there know how to protect themselves. The world is corrupt, Pêche. The world is corrupt, so we must _suffer_ to ever do the right thing." Blake allowed his true feelings to emerge for just a moment, conflict twisting his surreally beautiful face and a deep, heart-wenching look of suffering in his eyes. Pêche stilled, releasing her breath slowly. She looked up at Blake who, in all his majesty and might, had never looked so human.

"Pêche, the world does not accept us," Blake stated, releasing Pêche's shoulders but keeping his powerful obsidian eyes trained intently on hers, gloriously overwhelming the tumult raging deep within. "But that is _not_ why we are the way we are." He shook his head, his eyes taking on a distinctly poignant character. "We're here because we do not accept what the world has become. We will _never_ accept that the only way to avoid our leaders' overt, barbaric bloodlust is to allow their vile, secret villainies to go unchallenged. That _one_ man may decide the fates of _all_ men and _all_ women." Pêche allowed herself to fall onto her bottom next to the fire, eyes that reflected the flames looking up at Blake with awe. "We must fight them because the Morrigan is the only one who _can_ fight them anymore, so even if it means we are outcasts, even if it means we are criminals, even if we lose everything we have ever held dear, we will always have this:" Pêche's eyes widened, "our freedom."

"We are fighting for an ideal that we cannot let die," Blake pressed, eyes dead serious and carrying the weight of centuries of service. "We are fighting for freedom."

Silence reigned as Pêche was allowed to digest all of this. Blake sat back onto his log, hands folded over his mouth and eyes trained on young Pêche's every move. After many moments, she finally spoke up.

"They said that the Lady took my freedom," Pêche challenged. "That I'm bound to Her now, and that I can never change that. I have to always do what She says." Blake gave this much thought.

"The people have forgotten that the Lady isn't a person the way that you and I are people," Blake began. "She is not a person, she is a Goddess. She is you and me and the trees and the rocks and the river and the sky. She is this world, Pêche."

"I don't understand what that has to do with anything," Pêche replied honestly.

"The Lady is a force of nature, she does not have a will the way that we have a will," Blake explained. "A human's will can only be selfish, because we are bound by our human experiences. The Lady has no 'self'; what we call her 'will' is merely the force of destiny." Pêche looked unsure.

"Human's will is fickle and short-sighted. Simone and I are here to teach you how to align your will with the force of destiny, so that you may transcend the bounds of human nature to achieve greater power and insight," Blake explained, as if what he was saying now was what he had always been saying. He leaned forward towards Pêche. "You are here because you were destined to be here. This is the path that will take you where you must go. Pêche, whether you realize it or not, the Lady brings everyone's life to completion. This is your path."

"But," Pêche's voice rose hesitantly, "when I killed that man, I felt so much hate. I hated him so much for what he was trying to do, so when I killed him..." Pêche hesitated, looking down at her hands. "When I kill him, I enjoyed it. I really enjoyed hurting him from the bottom of my heart." Blake kneeled down before the girl, and wiped a tear from her cheek with his calloused thumb. When she looked up to meet his gaze, his eyes were soft.

"You're not a monster," Blake assured with a small, gentle smile that looked strange on his face. Pêche had never seen the man show such... sympathy. "If you enjoy hurting evil people, then that makes you good. As long as you're fighting on the right side, there's no harm in enjoying it."

Pêche sniffled. "But, I'm afraid," she confessed. "I'm afraid of the way I've become, where I can be so happy to kill a man." Blake nodded solemnly.

"I understand the way you feel," Blake consoled. "It's completely normal, you have so much power and you're afraid you'll misuse it." Blake held the girl's thin shoulder, black eyes looking deep into hers. "But I won't let you. I'll show you how to tell if a person is good or bad. When a person is bad like Innolt was, you can kill them. When a person is good, you can use your power to protect them."

Pêche wiped her tears from her eyes. "But enjoying someone else's pain, even a bad person's pain... Isn't that sadistic?" Blake shrugged lightly.

"Maybe," he admitted. Pêche's frown deepened in despair. "But don't worry about it, no one cares what happens to bad people. Think about it," Blake pointed out, laughing a little, "if your family found out that Hitler got anally raped, wouldn't they say 'he deserves that and much worse'? Would anyone fault the one who did the raping?" Pêche's eyes widened, and she shook her head.

"That's a really extreme case," Pêche pointed out. Blake let out a humourless laugh.

"In worlds were the average lifespan is on the scale of centuries," Blake explained, "one man can kill many more people and do much more evil than is possible in your world." Pêche felt a little better hearing that, somehow.

"So you're saying I'll only have to kill theses worlds' equivalents to, like, Hitler?" Pêche asked. Blake's face twisted into a smile. He felt that he was getting through.

"We try not to wait until things are that bad," Blake suggested with a crooked smile.

"Aren't we just pursuing a political agenda, then?" Pêche noticed, eyes shining bright as her tears dried up. "We're like vigilante assassins. If these worlds have been around for half an eternity, then why can't they take care of themselves?"

"It's a long story," Blake dismissed. "But once corruption comes in, it's hard to kill. Now it's up to our people to mount an insurgency, because we're the only ones who can anymore-"

"But I don't understand," Pêche interrupted. "I don't understand who our people are, what we're fighting against. You can't expect me to be able to feel right about an insurgency I know nothing about!"

"That is a fair point," Simone chimed in, massive body oddly serene. Blake shot him a questioning look. "She's old enough now to understand. If we want her to join us, we must be completely honest with her." Simone turned his big head to look at Pêche with kind eyes. "Blake and I are asking of you a great sacrifice. But once you know better who we are, what this world is like, and what we are fighting for, I promise that you will feel much better about joining us in our fight."

Hours went by, hours upon hours of history, of politics, of war. Simone and Blake told Pêche of how all the worlds were once run by a hierarchy of spirit beings, ranging from the Great Spirit to individuals such as Blake and Pêche. A large amount of individuals in harmony with their environment is what made a deity. A larger amount of people and space amounted to a higher deity, with greater balance and less personality. This was the way gods and goddesses existed, through their worshipers, through the people that carried them. Harmony existed because the only law that was respected was the law of the Great Spirit, which was, by definition, peaceful and non-partisan. Everyone and everything was part of the Great Spirit, the substance-less, personality-less ever-form whose "law" was nothing more and nothing less than destiny. No nationalism and no religion was ever meant to trump the unspoken code of the Great Spirit.

But a cataclysm occurred in the Starry worlds, a shock that fragmented the population. It was a wave that began the ascent of greed. It began as the idea that one local deity was greater than another local deity. It created a rivalry between worlds. It was a loss of faith in the unity of the human spirit and the great things that emerged from it. In this way, the hierarchy was eroded over hundreds of years until no gods remained, allowing humans, the smallest denomination of a soul, the ones least peaceful and with the most personality, to take control over what once belonged to the common good.

The Underworld was the last hold-out, but even that was slipping. Only the Morrigan had survived the apocalypse by retreating into the darkest parts of the Underworld with her devoted following. She was a triple goddess strongly associated with strife and battle, and yet also fertility. She was the queen of dark places, and was known to impart those powers generously to all those warriors who follow Her. To date, only thirty million people in the entire cosmos were part of the Morrigan, an infinitesimal fraction of what had once been a great empire.

Pêche listened to stories about the golden days of the cosmos, when a society was not run by one man but by a people, all biases and fears cancelled out and leaving only absolute serenity. She heard of how there was no "government," people were simply organized to always take care of each other in a way that was no longer conceivable. There were no wars, no crime, because, like Pêche had learnt, All is One. People understood that before; now it was a topic for historians and magicians.

She listened and absorbed everything until, in the dark early hours of the morning, she fell asleep. Blake covered her with a blanket.

"I wasn't expecting her to react so well to you," Simone commented. "I thought for sure that there'd be no redemption after what happened to her." Blake tucked Pêche in more snugly, eyes softer than he allowed himself when she was conscious.

"It's easy to underestimate her because she's a child," Blake replied. "But she was a soldier for a long time." He looked at her serene sleeping face. Even after everything that had happened to her, she still looked so innocent in her sleep.

"She's someone who's life was driven by devotion," Simone added. "Someone like that can find purpose with us."

Blake rose from his knees to toss another log into the fire. The flames shone brightly in his eyes, his hair scintillating in the fiery light. "This time we'll make sure she fights for something real."

* * *

When Rangiku decided that she had to go see him, she was prepared to be surprised. But she could never have prepared herself for what greeted her as she walked through the wall of the downtown Montreal apartment.

"It's been a long time, Vice-Captain Matsumoto," Kiano greeted as he munched on popcorn. A brail book was laid on his lap. Rangiku nearly toppled over in surprise, but Kiano didn't acknowledge that. "How have you been?"

"Tousen!" Rangiku spluttered, running around the couch to see Kiano's face. "What are you doing here?" Kiano didn't look up, although he really didn't need to.

"My name is Kiano now, and I live here," he replied nonchalantly. "What are you doing here?"

Rangiku didn't quite know how to answer that. Minamoto Akai had said years ago that Kiano remembered the broad strokes of his life in Soul Society, but he didn't seem to remember his treason. But this was many years ago, certainly given much time to think, especially questioning the circumstances surrounding his death... And here he was, living with that man...

Rangiku sat herself down on the coffee table in front of Kiano. He seemed to be expecting some sort of explanation for her appearance.

"You live here with Jeremy Renard, right?" Rangiku began, leaning forward towards Kiano as if he were a normal child.

Kiano's eyebrow quirked. Unexpected start. "Yes, that is correct."

Rangiku hesitated a moment, then finally just spelt it out as clearly as she could. "Doesn't he remind you of Ichimaru Gin?" Now Kiano looked surprised.

"I did not know Captain Ichimaru very well," Kiano admitted, "but Jeremy certainly has a different reiatsu than Captain Ichimaru." Rangiku quirked an eyebrow. Jeremy's reiatsu was certainly orders of magnitude less than Gin's, but Rangiku strongly believed it felt the same.

Nevertheless, Rangiku accepted that as the best answer she'd get. She figured it wouldn't be helpful, not to mention nice, to ask a blind child if he perhaps felt Jeremy _looked_ like Gin, or had similar mannerisms to Gin.

"Can you do me a tiny little favour, Kiano?" Rangiku asked, still, despite herself, treating Kiano like the adorable child he looked like. "I need to know if this man is Gin. When he comes home, could you pretend that I'm not here?"

"Why would you think Jeremy to be Captain Ichimaru?" Kiano finally asked. "I had thought that Captain Ichimaru was still alive when I died... Why would he be such an old man now?" Rangiku pursed her lips.

"I don't know," Rangiku admitted, "but I'd know Gin anywhere, and I have a strong feeling about this." She got down on her knee before the twelve-year-old Kiano and lowered her voice. "Please, Kiano, this is really important to me." Kiano understood.

"I will give the two of you privacy," the young boy decided, closing his school book and rising to his feet. With practiced confidence, he walked to the dining room chair where he had left his socks and began to put them on.

"No, no, no," Rangiku insisted. "You don't have to go anywhere!"

"My friends live two floors down," Kiano explained. "Jeremy doesn't usually let me go down until my homework is done, but as a favour to an old comrade, I am willing to disobey him." Kiano flashed an oddly child-like smile to Rangiku. Her heart warmed, and the shinigami couldn't help what happened next.

"You're so sweet," she cooed, wrapping her arms around the young boy, unwittingly snuggling him against her bosom. She realized again how much she missed Toushiro when he was younger...

"Urf," Kiano said, apparently unable to breath. Rangiku pulled back, smiling a big smile.

"I'm going to bring you a treat as a thank you," the shinigami decided cheerfully, all smiles. "What's your favourite, _ichigo daifuku_, _dango_?"

Kiano thought for a moment. "If you insist, what I would best appreciate is skim milk. Jeremy insists on buying 2% despite the unnecessary saturated fat content. It's as if he doesn't care at all about my heart health." Rangiku frowned somewhat.

"You don't fit in with kids your age, do you?" Rangiku asked with a forced-looking smile.

"I have many friends, they just think I'm an oddity," Kiano plainly admitted as he finished putting on his socks. Waving goodbye, he strode down the corridor towards the elevator.

* * *

"So?" Was all Blake said as Pêche emerged from the dark forest. Her eyes were steady as she met her spirit guide's gaze. Blake and Simone had given her many days and nights to think about what they had discussed.

"I had already decided that I want to protect people," Pêche began. "I'm mature enough to understand that that means hurting people, and also getting hurt. There are some things I'm really afraid of, like killing an innocent person, getting raped, getting tortured," Pêche admitted, holding resolute despite the feelings crowding her heart. "If I kill someone, I need to know that they do terrible things. I don't want to kill someone who's not all bad. They have to commit genocide, rape, unjust murder, things like that. Especially rape. I'll kill anyone who's ever raped anyone."

"That's understandable," Blake agreed.

"And if I am to kill someone who's done terrible things, and I get hurt in the process," Pêche continued, holding strong, "then that'll be okay. Because I understand what I'm getting into now, and if it means that by me getting hurt, I can save someone else, I can be proud of that. I think I can live with whatever happens so long as I'm protecting innocent people." Blake allowed himself to smile.

"You're more mature than I gave you credit for," Blake admitted. "Let's put that resolution to the test." Blake pulled the string holding together the large sack at his side. When it came undone appeared a young man, around the age of 25, tied up around the arms and legs, unconscious. Pêche's eyes widened.

"This," Blake said as he slapped the man on back, "is Prince Ramalin of Tarn." The man stirred, but only a few more hits coaxed him to consciousness. "Found guilty by the High Court of Asgard of ethnic cleansing and murder of the Nashvali tribes, but, predictably, being offered asylum by Tarn." Blake smiled, almost as if in excitement. "Is he suitable for you, Pêche Prunier?" Pêche pursed her lips in a smile and approached the man. She pulled the gag from his mouth.

"Care to defend yourself?" Pêche asked sweetly. The man spat at her, a brown smear on Pêche's cheek .

"I'd rather die than beg for my life from you trash," the prisoner railed. "You fuckers are nothing but unclean, savage people who bring Tarn nothing but misfortune. We will destroy every last one of-" Pêche abruptly plunged her sword through the man's mouth, sending the cold steel flying down his throat and to the pit of his gut. He was dead nearly immediately, and Pêche withdrew her sword.

"I see why you had him gagged," Pêche commented offhandedly. She wiped her sword off against the dead man's clothes, then looked to Blake beside her. He seemed astounded. "What?"

"I had no idea you had the capacity for such carnage," Blake said, almost like it was a compliment, but mostly like he was spooked by the sudden change in Pêche's attitude. Pêche blushed girlishly.

"I figure since I'm only going to kill bad people, I'd might as well enjoy it, right?" she offered with a bright smile, albeit a little unsure. She was new at this, after all. "Although I can't wait to kill some rapists. I hate rapists," she emphasized, looking brutally _excited_. "Can we go find some rapists? Please?"

* * *

"Damn rotten kid," Jeremy grumbled as he ambled out of his adopted son's room, having come to the conclusion that Kiano had definitely disobeyed him and gone downstairs. He got the mother downstairs on the line.

"Hello Sheryl," the disgruntled father greeted, "can you send Kiano back up?" A pause. "He didn't do his homework." Another pause. "He lied, then. He left it all open on the table." A longer pause. "Doesn't want to come up? Ugh... Yes, I understand, Sheryl, it's not your responsibility to discipline my son. I'll deal with it." Jeremy hung up the phone, and stood by it a moment, hesitating. Then he shrugged his shoulders casually. "From a globe-trotter to this, who'd have thought?"

The father turned on the television and plopped himself down on the couch. Rangiku watched him from where she had been leaning against the bookshelf, right next to the television. She cocked her head at Jeremy's chosen course of action. Perhaps she was deceiving herself, but she couldn't help but feel that Jeremy was watching her, not the television directly on her left.

"Kids, what can you do?" Jeremy sighed, nestling deeper into the couch. Rangiku leaned more heavily against the bookcase. Rhetorical, most certainly rhetorical. But still, her eyes sharpened and she watched him more intently.

"You do the best you can, but in the end they're going to do whatever they want," Jeremy continued. He sighed again. "It's only going to get worse, it's only going to get worse... My darling baby boy..." Rangiku raised a delicate brow. Jeremy was silent again, watching television intently.

"You should have seen him when I met him," Jeremy commented. "He was just an amazing boy in a terrible situation. So _bright_, I couldn't bear the thought of them leaving him in an orphanage." Jeremy smiled like a fox, the jumble of words slowing to a single, quiet statement. "Just... too much potential." Rangiku's eyes widened. She was sure he was looking at her now.

"Can you imagine, Ran?" Jeremy asked, almost laughing. "Me, a father?" Rangiku felt overwhelmed.

"Gin," she gasped softly, pushing off from the bookcase and approaching her long-lost friend and enemy. Jeremy smiled as he always smiled.

"Been a long time, Ran," he commented. "Why aren't you a Captain yet?" Rangiku took a breath and rebalanced herself. She couldn't let her feelings get in the way of this.

"Don't you worry, I practically _am_ a Captain," she commented, just in case Gin thought he could take her lightly. She's been filling in for Captain Hitsugaya for more than a decade. "How did you survive?"

"I didn't, to be honest," Jeremy replied. Rangiku stood before him, not about to let him weasel out of this one.

"Then how did it happen?" she asked. "How did you get here?"

"It's a long and boring story," Jeremy warned, sounding almost mocking. Rangiku knew him better than that, though.

"I have time," she answered, arms crossed over her chest. Jeremy's smile widened.

"I was in Japan on business a few years ago," he started, leaning forward in his seat as if, despite what he had said earlier, this was going to be one of his classic stories, "when I happened to stumble upon our old friends Rukia and Ichigo, although I didn't know it was them at the time, of course."

"Where are you going with this?" Rangiku interrupted. Jeremy didn't seem to hear.

"I remembered that odd couple from the time I had stolen some Chappy soul extraction stuff from them," Jeremy pushed on, "but this time I knew what to do and I used Rukia's soul extraction glove to extract Chappy from Rukia's body. I was then free to do what I pleased with Rukia's body-"

"Gin!" Rangiku exclaimed, shocked.

"Calm down! I brought her to my hotel-"

"Gin!" Rangiku interrupted again. "That's kidnapping!"

"Damn it, Ran, will you let me finish the damn story?" Jeremy snapped. He leaned forward more, getting back into the groove. He smiled mischievously just as he liked to. "So I laid her body down at the hotel- thank the gods that no one saw- and I started searching the body while I waited for Rukia to get back." Jeremy's smile widened suggestively. "And didn't I find the most convenient thing! Forty dollars worth of yen and a memory-switcher to boot!"

"Gin, not that this isn't a nice story," Rangiku commented, rubbing her temples, "but I can see this story isn't going anywhere..."

"You have no idea where this story is going," Jeremy contested. "Anyway, I waited for Rukia to come retrieve her body. You see, by this point, being around Kiano and his raging spiritual powers made me able to see ghosts, however imperfectly. It also helped me remember who I am, which was pretty much a life-saver, but that's another story. So when Rukia arrived, she was shocked that I was alive, and I switched her memory! So I got off scot free, forty dollars richer and with a memory-switcher that serves me well every day!"

Rangiku's eyebrows where high and her eyes unquestionably annoyed. "Now, what part of that _fantastic_ story explains how _a man I saw die_ is standing in front of me as an adult human?" Jeremy thought about it a moment.

He frowned somewhat, a sad frown. "I suppose I ended up telling the wrong story..."

"No kidding, Gin," Rangiku replied dryly, but she couldn't help but laugh. She looked at Jeremy with warm eyes, and there was just a moment of deep silence.

"Did you mourn me?" Jeremy asked suddenly. Rangiku's eyes snapped to the man's face, and it was serious. He was asking seriously.

She was quiet a long time. The two of them were all alone. "Every day," she finally whispered, eyes unable to meet his.


	14. Arc II: Weendigo

Field School was awesome. Geology Rocks!

* * *

Pêche ran and she ran, her heart beating furiously and her lungs burning from the pain. She had to make it in time, she just had to. She felt the monster's energy so close; she heard its screech from down the block. She had to make it in time, she just had to protect…

Turning the corner, Pêche arrived just in time to see the monster disintegrate with a final scream. Eyes wide with surprise, Pêche caught sight of a woman pointing some sort of staff at the monster. Drawing back her weapon, the lady turned to gaze with deep black eyes at Pêche, still startled beyond belief.

A curious look on her face, the woman approached Pêche and waved her hands over the girl's eyes. "Yoohoo," she called, "are you okay?"

"Wha… how did you do that?" Pêche exclaimed all of a sudden, pointing at the woman, her surprise catching up to her. "You just killed that monster…"

"Aha, so you _can_ see me," the woman said with a satisfied smile, patting the girl's head joyously. "I had thought so! What a special little girl!"

"I'm not the special one here," Pêche retorted, flabbergasted. "And I'm fifteen years old!"

The woman looked surprised. She smiled a friendly, gorgeous smile. "No way! You look so much younger! _I'm_ fifteen."

Pêche blanched. The woman before her was about six inches taller than she was, with breasts about three times as large and a figure that, even through her deerskin dress, could make any girl take a hit to her self-esteem. The woman's copper skin was flawless, her long ebony hair smooth as silk, and her big black eyes shining bright behind long eyelashes. And she had all the youthfulness of a fifteen-year-old. Pêche felt every trace of hope in her dissolve.

"There is no Goddess," Pêche moaned in despair, a cloud hanging over her head. The woman didn't seem to notice.

"Hmm…" the woman hummed as she eyed Pêche speculatively. "You're alive, you're in body, and you ran all the way here to face the Weendigo… Truly exceptional…"

"Who are you?" Pêche asked from within her gloom.

The woman flashed a dazzling smile. "I am Miakoda, acclaimed shaman of the Kanienkeh tribe, wandering the land to protect humans from the Weendigo," Miakoda exclaimed with absolute pride. "What is your name, little one?"

"Stop calling me little," Pêche complained, shaking her fists at her side. "My name is Pêche Prunier, and I'm a high school student."

"Poor dear, so distraught," Miakoda soothed in an oddly patronizing way. "Why don't we go get some ice cream? Would you like that?"

Pêche pouted, but couldn't say no to ice cream.

"So since you're a ghost, you can't pay for the ice cream?" Pêche drummed out bluntly.

"Nope," Miakoda said with utmost nonchalance. "Of course not."

"But I still have to buy you an extra large banana split, with extra chocolate, caramel, pecans, sprinkles and Smarties?" Pêche asked dully.

"It's awfully nice of you, Pêche, honey," Miakoda thanked. Pêche sighed, and passed a twenty to the guy over the counter when he got back with Miakoda's massive and overpriced ice cream sundae. The two sat down on a bench outside. It was an unseasonably warm spring day.

"So, Pêche, you destroy Weendigos?" Miakoda asked, handling her sundae daintily, while getting ice cream all over her face.

"Weendigos?" Pêche asked, remembering that Miakoda had used that word before.

"Yea, Weendigos," Miakoda nodded sagely. "They're those cannibal monsters that prey on other humans."

Pêche tilted her head in confusion. "They're called Weendigos?" Akai had always called them monsters, saying that they were demons that needed to be destroyed. She had never really considered them beyond that.

"You mean you've been fighting them without knowing what they are?" Miakoda asked, surprised.

Pêche ducked her head slightly, embarrassed that she'd never been curious enough to ask. "Well, I know that they eat humans…"

"Do you know why?" Miakoda asked. "Do you know the origins of the Weendigo?"

"No…" Pêche admitted. Miakoda's eyes sparkled.

"Then come here, child, come and hear the story of the Weendigo," she said in a sagely voice, as if she'd been waiting for an opportunity like this for centuries. Pêche pouted, but was more than willing to listen.

"The Weendigo have haunted our lands for as long as the Kanienkeh people have lived," Miakoda started, her voice carrying the weight of the knowledge of the ancestors. "They are great spirit beings, many times larger than a human, with long arms and long legs, so thin that they always looked starved. The Weendigo's skin is so thin and dried, that all you can see is the ash-grey bone beneath and deep inset eyes that glow red with the blood of its victims.

"In times of starvation, some people resort to cannibalism, and they undoubtedly become Weendigos. However, possession by a Weendigo can also turn a human into a Weendigo, as well as greed and gluttony.

"The Weendigo is never satisfied after consuming a human, they are always hungry, and always continue to search for their next prey. They are a threat to all humans, and must therefore be destroyed by talented and accomplished shaman."

Miakoda closed her eyes, sitting serenely upon the bench as if she belonged to a world apart. Pêche's eyes narrowed. "Your ice cream is dripping."

"Gah," Miakoda exclaimed delicately, as she started to lick the ice cream off her hand.

Pêche held back a smile, shaking her head. "You are _so_ silly, Mia."

"Wow," Pêche mouthed, stunned to silence by the magnificent sight she was now beholding.

She had seen huge trees before, trees that were taller than buildings, on the Discovery Channel, but Pêche was sure that what she was seeing now would dwarf anything found on Earth.

The book had called this the "World Tree." This was the crossroads between worlds. From here she could travel to anywhere in all of existence, because the Tree's roots reached to the center of the Earth and its branches reached the most distant stars. It was big and beautiful and everything that Pêche had hoped it would be.

For the last four years, Pêche had journeyed to only one place, the place that was called the Underworld. It was underground, obviously, and held the most dense, most primal power of the universe. Blake had explained this to her many times before, but she only really believed it when she read about it in a book. Of course she would never say that to her friend's face, because, in all fairness, he was trying very hard to bring her into this world.

But having what Blake told her be validated by an outside source was heavily gratifying. It was proof that she wasn't crazy after all. And it also lent credence to the notion that all the other things Blake had told her about the world were true as well.

Over the years, as he trained her, Blake had told her many stories of how this universe operated. There were an infinite amount of worlds cradled in the universe, or the World Tree. If you had the gift and the drive, you could travel these distant worlds and learn from them. The worlds that were situated in the roots of the World Tree were made of increasingly dense spiritual pressure. The worlds that were higher up, in the branches, were made of a more refined, thinner energy, like the air on a mountaintop.

So far, Pêche had only been to the Underworld, the world of dense energy. It happened almost every night for four years. Pêche would be falling asleep in her bed, her stuffed rabbit cuddled close to her, when she'd feel it coming for her. The Darkness would surround her, and the next second, she'd find herself by the sea in the Underworld, wearing loose-fitting black pants with a pink sash and a black top. Her training gi. From there, she would follow the spark of Blake and Simon's energy to where they had made camp.

Because of this, Pêche had never needed to travel to the Underworld by herself. She had had no idea how, either, until she had found this thick book at a Chapters in Montreal that claimed to teach people how to travel to other worlds.

In this book, there were instructions on how to travel the worlds. Pêche followed them to the letter and, to her intense surprise, she found herself now in front of the World Tree.

"Wow," Pêche repeated, a little more vocally this time.

She approached the Tree, her hand reaching towards it, as if in greeting.

"Welcome, Pêche," a serene voice sounded, and Pêche nearly jumped out of her skin.

"What?" she looked around. "Who's there?"

She heard a laughing that sounded almost like a chime. "It's me, child, my name is Phigalia." Pêche looked in front of her, eyes searching the Tree over and finding no mouth from which the words could be coming from.

"I think I'm having a Pocahontas moment here," Pêche voiced dubiously. Silent laughter rustled the leaves and swayed the branches like wind. Pêche smiled back and brought her hands to the bark of the Tree. It hummed with power and knowledge. A dark portal opened beneath her fingertips.

This was going to be fun.

It was strange how it happened.

Jeremy had brought Kiano with him to one of his friend's houses for an evening party. The host couple had invited many friends and their children. The house was huge, and the kids, some younger than Kiano, some older, were having their own fun in the basement. Kiano, for lack of anything better to do, joined them.

Looking around, some were playing Twister, some of the girls were talking merrily about something or another, some boys were playing video games, and there was even one older girl flirting with another older boy. Kiano was bored.

Sitting down on the far couch that was too soft, he held his hands together on his lap and waited for time to pass. It wasn't long before a group of girls approached him.

"What are you doing here all by yourself?" one of them asked playfully. Kiano wasn't unaccustomed to this kind of attention. For a fourteen-year-old, he was tall and muscular, the product of a training regime that he carried over from his previous life. Unsurprisingly, he also had a maturity uncommon for a boy his age. And all girls loved that.

"I enjoy my personal time," was all Kiano said, making it rather clear he had no interest in talking to the young ladies. But, as usual, that just made them want to talk to him more.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?" one girl asked. "You'd look so much cooler without them."

"_I wear my sunglasses at night_," another girl sang jokingly. The girls laughed. Kiano was beginning to be annoyed.

"You want to see me without my glasses?" he asked.

"Yes!" they sounded in a discordant chorus. The girls nodded their heads vigorously, all smiles. Kiano removed his glasses and opened his eyes. He could hear the girls' soft gasps. There was an awkward silence.

"I'm blind," Kiano explained. The girls were amazed, the boy's pupils were entirely whited out. It was eerie-looking.

"We're so sorry," said one of them, the one who first asked about the sunglasses. Kiano could tell they were beating themselves up about it. No one wanted to bully the blind kid.

Kiano smiled. "Don't worry about it," he dismissed, feeling a little guilty for teasing the girls. "My name is Kiano." Smiling in return, the girls rushed to introduce themselves.

For an hour or so, Kiano reaped what he sowed and listened to the girls' light-hearted chatter about pets and vacations and school. He didn't contribute much to the conversation, but when he did, it was a big hit with the girls. Kiano understood that they were at the age where being friends with a boy was a sign of popularity. Kiano had always thought of himself as an adult in a child's body, but he wasn't above humouring these kids.

However, one bold girl, Meaghan, would be the one to shatter everything.

"Kiano, have you ever wondered what it's like to see?" Kiano didn't hesitate.

"No," he answered. Meaghan pressed further.

"Have you ever been able to see?" The question struck Kiano like a ton of bricks, and he didn't know why. He hesitated. A murky memory flashed before him, and he could barely hold onto it. It was a visual memory.

"I think so," he answered honestly, deeply puzzled at this fuzzy image in his mind. He was terrified and he wanted to run from it as fast as possible, but he couldn't anymore. He needed to know.

"When?" another girl asked. "When you were a baby?" Kiano's brow furrowed.

"I remember a lot of rubble, much destruction," he spoke, more to shape the intangible into something concrete than to answer the girl. A voice in his head was screaming for him to stop and forget all of this. "And..." Kiano's blind eyes widened and he gasped. He felt lightheaded. "Sajin."

Kiano remembered Komamura's face. The memory crystallized with such cruel clarity. He brought his hands to his head and, without even knowing it, began screaming at the top if his lungs. The girls fell back, paralyzed with fear. They had no idea what was happening. Kiano's eyes looked like they would jump from their sockets.

The screams were so loud that the parents upstairs heard. They were all downstairs in an instant.

"Kiano, what's wr-" Jeremy began, but Kiano punched him square in the face, sending him flying backwards into the wall. A few fathers held the raving Kiano back, shocked at the quiet child's outburst.

"You traitor," he shrieked, trying to lunge at Jeremy again. "Ichimaru Gin, you're a traitor! You fucking traitor!"

"What's he talking about, Jeremy?" the host, a man with short hair greying at the temples, shouted over the commotion. Jeremy didn't react.

"Just breathe, Kiano. Just calm down," Jeremy tried to sooth. He could see the agony ripping his son apart. Kiano easily shrugged off the middle-aged men holding him back.

"Everything makes sense now," Kiano gasped, feeling light headed. "We weren't killed in a Vasto Lord attack, you liar." Kiano paced back and forth, drenched in his sweat. Then he stopped cold. "We killed the Commander. We killed Captain Sui Feng, and Vice-Captain Hinamori. We gutted the Gotei 13."

"The Gotei 13 survived," Jeremy consoled, ignoring the confused looks on his friends faces. He tried to approach Kiano, but the man pushed him back roughly. His face was twisted into a snarl.

"You must be disappointed, you traitor," Kiano spat. "Do you continue to plot against the people who have given you everything? And what about Ran?" Realization hit again, and Kiano brought his hand to his mouth. Was Ran in on this? Everything was crumbling.

"I've got no beef against the Gotei 13, and neither does Ran," Jeremy assured quietly.

"Sajin. I can't believe what I did to Sajin." Kiano's head snapped up. "Sajin wasn't killed, was he?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Komamura's still alive in the Soul Society." Kiano was too overwhelmed to even breathe a sigh of relief. This was crushing him.

"Why did you lie to me?" Kiano demanded softly, his palm pressed against his forehead. Jeremy was silent. "Why did you lie to me?" Kiano snapped. He clutched Jeremy's shirt and shoved him up against the wall.

"If you didn't remember, it was because you couldn't bear to remember," Jeremy offered calmly. "Why would I tell you something you couldn't bear to hear?" Kiano's grasp on his father loosened. He stumbled back, as if struck.

"How could I? How could _we_?" Slowly, Jeremy's sad gaze met Kiano's.

"I betrayed Aizen," Jeremy said, and those words froze Kiano. "After you died, I betrayed him. Aizen killed me."

"No," Kiano whispered, aghast. "No," he shouted. "You betrayed Ran! We're both traitors! We both betrayed our saviours, the ones who brought us out of Rukongai. We betrayed the very justice we swore on our lives to protect!"

"I died in Ran's arms," Jeremy replied levelly, forcing himself to keep his gaze fixed on his hysterical son.

"It's not possible," Kiano decided, pacing back and forth. "Why am I alive?" Kiano demanded. "Why am I not dead for what I've done?"

"You're a different person now, Kiano," Jeremy stressed. "You're not Tousen Kaname anymore."

"I _am_ Tousen Kaname," Kiano shrieked, pounding his chest hard with one fist. "I speak with the same mouth, I feel with the same heart, I am just as blind in my two eyes." His hands were balled into fists painfully, piercing his skin. "These are the same hands, the same hands that fought Sajin." His hands reaching for his head looked like they might pull out his dreads. "I betrayed my best friend. I tried to kill Sajin! _Sajin_!"

"It's in the past, Kiano," Jeremy pressed, slowly approaching his son. "It was fifteen years ago."

"I called Sajin ugly," Kiano realized, tears flowing uncontrolled from his blind eyes. "The one thing I should never have said to the person I cared most for. What is wrong with me?" Jeremy brought his hand to his son's broad, muscular shoulder.

"It's in the past," Jeremy repeated. "You're a different person now." Kiano fell back.

"Jeremy, what's going on?" the host asked again in a quiet, terse voice. Jeremy's eyes didn't leave his son. He walked towards the Kiano that had fallen back onto the couch, head held in his hands in a look of utter despair.

"I can't believe it," Kiano repeated again and again, shaking his head. Tears streamed from his eyes. His whole body trembled. "I betrayed Sajin. I betrayed Hisagi. I called him ugly. I should never have been allowed to live again." Jeremy held his son in his arms as he wept.

"I'm sorry," Jeremy said. "I made my mistakes too. I was like you, I put revenge before everything else." Kiano's eyes widened. He looked up at his father of seven years, the man who had taken him in when he was orphaned and alone and gave him everything. "Just like you wanted revenge for your friend, I wanted revenge for Ran. I was so consumed by that desire that I ended up hurting the person I wanted to protect."

"What happened to Ran?" Kiano asked. She had been like a mother to him for so many years. And he loved her even more now that he knew she loved him despite his treason. He felt deeply ashamed, deeply unworthy of her kindness, of any kindness. Jeremy's face was solemn.

"You don't need to know," Jeremy replied. "But believe me when I say that there's always time to make things right."

His son moderately subdued, Jeremy turned to his friends, reaching into his pocket for something that would make the night disappear.

"And then I found these underwater caves," Pêche swooned, climbing up a small hill with Miakoda at her side. "Oh my Goddess, it was amazing! There were these giant crystals that shot these rainbows along the walls of the cave, that moved with the water." Pêche sighed, collapsing onto the grass. "Probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"That sounds amazing," Miakoda agreed, wonder in her voice. She propped herself on her elbows, looking down at the glowing Pêche with amazement.

"It was," Pêche said with a big smile. "You're a shaman, Mia, have you been anywhere awesome lately?" Mia bit her lip.

"I haven't been anywhere since I was alive," Mia admitted. Pêche's eyes widened.

"Why?" Pêche asked.

"Well, I kind of got attached," she admitted, turning over to lie on the grass and gaze up at the lofty clouds. "I stayed in this world to be close to my family and friends, and then to protect my tribe." Mia shook her head. "But I couldn't fight history. And my people were on the wrong side of history." Pêche's eyes were downcast.

"I'm sorry," she offered.

"It's not your fault," Mia replied. "It was your ancestor's faults. Greedy French bastards." But she shrugged off that thought. "The point is that I waited too long to move on, and then it felt too late. I made a life here, just wandering around and destroying Weendigo. With no more shaman around, _someone_ needs to do it."

"It must be lonely," Pêche said. Mia chuckled a little.

"You have no idea," Mia replied. Pêche looked at this gorgeous, silly, infuriating girl with sympathy.

"Why don't you stay here?" Pêche offered. Mia's eyes widened. "You can go off and do your own thing, but I'm sure you want a home you can come back to, right?" Mia turned to look Pêche straight in the eye and propped herself on her elbow.

"You mean it?" Mia asked, eyes wide. Pêche smiled brightly.

"I don't really have many friends either, so why shouldn't we at least have each other?" Pêche asked. Mia's bottom lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. She threw her arms around Pêche, startling the girl a little.

"I've always wanted a little sister," Mia cried. Pêche's eyes widened and she blushed furiously. Then she smiled with unbridled excitement.

Rangiku was already at their apartment when they got home, laughing uproariously at the movie she was watching.

"We're home," Jeremy called. Ran turned around on the couch.

"You two are home early," she commented. Before anything more could be said, Kiano was on his knees at her feet. Rangiku's eyes were wide. What was this?

"I am deeply sorry to you and to the entire Gotei 13 for my treason," Kiano sounded, head down in shame. "I don't know what came over me. I can't understand my reasoning, or the fierce fire of hatred that lead me to treason. I hate myself for what I did to the Gotei 13, to my division, and to Sajin and Hisagi. I am not worthy of your forgiveness, Ran, but I want you to know that I am so sorry." Rangiku leaned towards Kiano, sympathy in her eyes.

"You're not the same person anymore, Kiano," Rangiku offered.

"But I still committed treason, the highest crime," Kiano continued steadfastly. He looked up to meet Rangiku's gaze. "And yet you've always treated me with such kindness, Ran." He bowed his head to the lady. "I do not deserve your love, but thank you. Thank you, Ran." Rangiku smiled wide, almost rolling her eyes. She pulled Kiano into a bear hug, kissing his cheek tenderly.

"Of course, Kiano, of course."

Jeremy watched the warm moment, smiling. This memory, the memory that he had been shielding Kiano from for so long, perhaps it was time to let him keep it.


End file.
